Backgrounds
by Rediamond
Summary: There are many reasons to journey in the Pokemon World. It turns out that banishment, breakdowns, unbeatable rivals and being forced to attend one dance too many are among them. A collection of short stories set in the Camper trainer class.
1. Prologue: Four Stories

The winter air rushed in and out of his lungs, mingling with the smoke inside them as John rapidly inhaled, his periwinkle eyes unhinged as he pushed a cart through the snow. He could no longer hear chanting behind him, but his own heartbeat might have covered it up. Glancing around the forest, he saw an ash tree with a lightning burn. Good. He knew where he was now. Umber was miles behind him. His shoulders relaxed and his breathing slowed. No longer concerned with imminent death, his thoughts shifted to sin.

Return was the moral option. Reverend Xavier knew what was right and he would end the sin in John's life if given the chance. Then he could be a good person and spared from eternal fire. But when he glanced in front of him, his resolve sapped away. The girl he had taken with him was still coated in rust red. Some time ago, he didn't know how long exactly, he had stopped to treat her wounds. She would be fine, though. John was sure of that. But if he came back now, well, that was a different story. In Umber, there was only one way to deal with witches. Kill them.

-.- . -. -. . -.. -.- ... -.- .- -.-. .. -. - ...

Gela Hyacinth never double-locked her door and hadn't owned a Clefairy doll since she was a little girl. Yet when she got back from her evening swim, the door was locked and a strange pink plush greeted her with wide eyes. She sighed and pulled out her watch and cell phone. "Kodo, scan for bugs. New bugs." A whirring sound emanated from her timepiece, so she put it down and called her mother as she loaded her computer.

The phone was answered on the third ring. A new record. "Hey, Gela. How's it going?"

"Same as always. Get up, do some coding, find the meaning of life, talk to my volleyball and maybe the skipper. Standard stuff for living alone on a remote island." Her OS had loaded. She just needed to wait on Kodo.

"Sarcastic as ever, I see." The traditional four seconds of silence elapsed. Neither could think of what to say in just three, and five would be unthinkable. "I take it you aren't just calling for small talk."

"No, I'm not. What'd I do to piss off the boss this time?"

"Huh?"

"My lair got a visitation today. No robbery, just a few reminders that they'd been there. Probably some bugs, but those are easy enough to take care of."

"I haven't heard of anything. Same awkward situation as usual around here. I'll ask around, though. See if I can find anything."

"Thanks." A notification flashed on Kennedy's monitor. "I think Kodo's got something. I'll get back to you later."

"Alright, see you soon. Love you."

"I love you too, mom." A buzz as the phone disconnected mingled with the stench of lies. Kennedy scanned the message on her screen. "Alright, disable all but one of the bugs. We'll destroy them later. In the meantime, let's see who exactly wants to bother us from the Sevii Islands."

- .-.. .. ...- . .-. - .- .-. ...

"Six months ago, Ronaldo Wyvern was just your average teenage boy from the country. Today he stands at the gates of the Indigo Plateau, and many analysts predict he could go all the way. Who is he? How did he do what so many only dream of? Today we will explore the origins and rise of this phenomenal trainer, potentially the future regional Champion. As always, no detail will remain unmentioned, no view unaired. Welcome to the Cinnabar Factor."

The TV shut off as a teenage boy stood in front of it, his Graveler nervously standing back as he fumed. "Why? The kid breezes through all the gyms, gets the media to fall in love with him, and then goes to fight off a few legendaries without breaking a sweat. How? We've fought strong trainers before, but once he starts battling, poof. Nothing. Pretty soon everything we can muster is defeated. Military grade strategy? Useless. Hundreds of hours of training? Useless. Gym badges? Useless. How on earth does he do it? It's like he can warp reality or something!"

Graveler ducked as a remote flew over his head. It wouldn't hurt him, but the device might get shattered. That would just make his trainer angrier. "I swear, one day we're going to beat Ronaldo Wyvern. Forget being the best. Just got to be better than that punk."

.-.. . -. - .-. . -.-. .-. .- -. .

The boat swayed rhythmically on the waves, lifted and lowered by the gentle swells scraping the surface of the immeasurably large ocean. Inside the vessel, dwarfed by the natural forces around it, soft music permeated the room, seeping from a violin at the front. As if shadowing the dance of nature around them, pairs of humans swayed to and fro, mindful of nothing but each other, the music, and the gentle rocking of the boat. Except for one girl, who was thinking about something quite different. "The incinerator," she whispered.

"What?" Her partner momentarily stumbled, but quickly made up for it. "What did you say?"

"The incinerator, of course. No one expects someone to hide in the incinerator. But if it's large enough and could be turned off... and then the ashes could be a red herring. The police, readers too, would assume that it was used to burn evidence, but maybe it was just used to burn fingerprints and cover shoe markings in the old ashes. Yes, the killer hid in there until only Miss Watson-"

"Lenore, you're speaking aloud."

"I'm- oh, shoot. Sorry. How loud was I?"

Her partner shook his head. "Not very. I'm guessing no one else heard you."

"Oh, thank goodness. Thanks for stopping me, Edgar."

"No problem. Look, if you don't want to do this, I understand. The song is nearly finished, so you could slip off and think for a few minutes if you need to."

As the music ended, Edgar left to find a new partner. Lenore apologized and thanked him before slipping off through the crowds and into the quieter hallway. Her parents would want to see her in the room, but for now she had a few minutes of quiet to enjoy her inspiration. That's just how writing went. Brief flashes of clarity muddled by the mundane moments of life. Of course, it would help if she did something interesting for once. Or got out of her heels and behind a type-writer. But neither was going to happen anytime soon.

- ... . -. .- .-. .-. .- - - .-.

Have you ever been in situations like these? Are murderous cult leaders, mafia spies, unbeatable rivals or midnight dances regularly out to make your life worse? Good. If they were you probably wouldn't have time to read this. These four are currently working on a book after watching one too many terrible _Cinnabar Factor_ broadcast fail to accurately tell their story. But it's a long story, which makes for a really long book. And a long book means that it will take a long time to get to you. In the meantime, I have been allowed to put this together. It's a collection of origin stories, telling how four children with deep psychological issues became four teenagers with deep psychological issues and access to powerful biological weapons.

Sound interesting? Good.

The stories can be read in any order. For example, you could read File 1 then Files 2, 3 and 4. You could also read them in the order 4, 3, 2, 1 or even 3, 2, 1, 4. But not 2, 1, 3, 4. Don't get crazy on us.

So if you want to read more about how a teenage boy came to flee into the forest with a witch, go to File 1. To find out why a girl lives alone with her watch, check out File 2. For a depressing story about the futility of fighting fate and Sues, File 3 is your best bet. File 4 chronicles the musings of a poet dealing with her mental demons. As if there was any other kind of poet. There are no time-traveling robots, sinking ships, or blue aliens in any of the files. Please go to Netflix and look up James Cameron if those pique your interest.

A/N:

Yes, you can read the Files in any order. I'll update this post with the starting points of the various stories when they're posted. I am currently releasing File 1 on Thursdays and Sundays while I work on File 2. I'll have more information on that story's release later.


	2. File 11: Jet Black

OPEN FILE 1: CADMIUM RED AND UMBER BROWN

OPEN FILE 1.1: JET BLACK

The battle spread out over the whole countryside, and the forest swallowed up more men that day than the sword.

2 Samuel 18:8

1980

"I'm standing in Celadon City, the regional capitol of excess and consumerism, where earlier this morning a band of freedom fighters led by the revolutionary Titania stormed a Regional Government office complex. The situation is still developing, but it is presently believed that the revolutionary band has suppressed all resistance inside the building and is holding the majority of its occupants hostage. It is difficult to estimate of the death toll at this time; the few inside reports we have indicate that it is likely in the dozens. The Regional Army has surrounded the building and the two forces remain in a standoff. Titania has stated that she will release the hostages immediately should the Champion issue a resignation notice or move the troops currently in Celadon against the Mafia bases in the city. The Champion has publicly declined these terms, most probably because his ties to organized crime and the excesses of industry blinds him to the human needs of his followers."

John Weaver looked up and frowned at the news. His parents were hugging each other and applauding so he clapped a little too. The words had been big. He shuddered. Why couldn't they show more pictures or use clearer words? The broadcast was talking about a woman named 'Titania,' whom they had talked about a lot recently. His parents discussed her at dinner with smiles and the voices they used to discuss happy things like weddings and births in the Community. They said he was a true soldier of The Voice willing to fight against evil. The news team always called her "holy" and "blessed." The Reverend gave a sermon once calling her "the paradigm of virtue" or something like that. It was a big word. John was trying to draw Titania now. He had to guess some of the details- the images of saintly individuals could not be recorded on camera, the Reverend said- but he drew her as tall and strong, like the heroes in the Testament who always fought evil and stood for what was right. There was a halo above her, of course, and the clouds were parting in a sign of The Voice's approval. But there was fire behind her as well. That was the hard part. Fire was always changing, and he could never get the color right. He used a Cadmium Red pastel, normally, because it was only his red one. The shade was off, though. Well, not quite. He just needed more shades. Fire wasn't only one color after all. And then he drew bodies. Titania would stand on a pile of dead evil people to show that she was good. There had been wars fought a few years ago where the sinful masses and the criminals tried to keep the government evil. When The Voice won they still tried to resist it. The evil won the second time: there had to be trials or it would be too easy to get to Heaven.

There had not been a war in years. Now there was Titania. She fought the evil government and blew up the non-believers. Testament said not to kill. Maybe the really good people were allowed to kill? His father had done it in the last fight. He would never answer questions about it. That made killing more mysterious to John. Maybe there were secrets about Testament and Law that only really good people like his dad and Titania could know?

One day he hoped to be good enough to kill people, too.

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

1987

"For the last time, Titania is not a terrorist! The mafia are terrorists!

John Weaver huffed in disgust as he walked to the main field for free hour. Viridian! In his home Unit, Viridian Camp was spoken of like a different world. The Unit Leader told the kids regularly that they should care more about nature, like the Campers who came to Viridian Camp. John was the exception in the Unit. The moment Cinnabar Creed recitation sessions began, he was out. When Testament study began he would move his pencil over the margins to draw a bird or a flower while he pretended to take notes. When the whining began on camping trips, though, John was running around with his tools flying through his sketchbook. How could he draw the grass better? What color was best for the leaves.

John stayed up at night for three days, busily packing for a trip months away, after he was told he could go to Viridian Camp. Finally, Campers who cared more about the outdoors than memorizing old sayings! But the people here-by The Voice they were so wrong and sinful. He couldn't tell whether to pity or hate them. Not hate though. The Voice told him not to hate. Only the good people could hate. Yes, he would pity. But that didn't mean he wasn't frustrated!

"My dad says that Titania is wrong. He says that the Champion's given thousands of people jobs. She can't be that bad if she gives jobs, right?"

"Giving stuff to the bad people at the cost of- you know what? I'm not talking to you." John stormed ahead, ignoring his group. Sinful fools. It wasn't complicated! Sure, the sermons on Xavier were always long and he was coloring by the end of half of them, but still! The Reverend thought the government was bad and Titania was good. The government was trying to make socialism, which was bad. Except for socialism in the Community. Umber was good. Titania wanted to bring Community to oppose the mafia and socialism, so she was good. Titania wasn't a Community member but she liked the same things so she was good. It made sense, really.

John's monologue carried him forward a half-mile before he looked up. He looked around to see where he was going. The stadium. He cringed, not wanting to see Pokémon manipulated by humans to hurt each other. It was wrong and against the Reverend's- no, The Voice's- commands. Still, he had nothing better to do. At least he could learn more to protest it later. John sat down on the wooden stands. It was uncomfortable. He didn't know the people around him. Umber's Unit didn't send many Campers to Viridian Camp. Not many wanted to go, and those that wanted to were often not approved. They were told they weren't ready to face the outside world. They didn't believe enough and their minds were conflicted. When he asked his friends why they never asked to go, most said they were afraid of being rejected and feeling sinful because of it. John wasn't worried though. He didn't have a conflicted mind.

The announcer, John had seen him around camp but didn't recognize him, took the stand. "Campers, today we have something a little different to show you: a Baccer match between counselors Ulysses Tanner and Seneca Williams! Since many of you probably don't know the rules, let's review. Each side will have three Pokémon. They must knock a ball into the opposing team's goal as many times as possible in twenty-five minutes. After a goal is made, the other team will gain possession and the match will continue. Play will not stop until the time is up. Additionally, no attacks are permitted against either other Pokémon or the ball. Now, give it up for Ulysses and Seneca!"

Strange. John had never seen, or heard, of a Baccer match before. Was it like battling? And what did the announcer mean no attacks? Were Pokémon fine with being trained if they weren't made to battle? Could they like it? Did it violate Testament? John would have to ask the Reverend later. Maybe make some notes to help the Reverend's decision. No, he would surely know the answer without his assistance. He could still draw though. John took out his sketchbook and waited excitedly for the match to begin.

... . -. . -.-. .- .- .. .-.. .-.. .. .- - ...

"Iris, Night, Blaze: let's go!"

"Butterfree!"

"Golbat!"

"Charmeleon!"

"Form, now." Ulysses shadow broke into four pieces. Three slipped away and rose into the air, forming jet black balls of smoke and toxic fog. When the process was done a Gastly, Haunter, and Gengar floated before him. A moment of shaking and silence passed before applause and cheering rose from the grandstands.

"Quite the display, Tanner. Does it translate to skill?" Seneca taunted.

"I believe you shall be astonished," Ulysses replied, his face expressionless and his eyes masked behind his onyx sunglases.

The ref tossed a coin. "By virtue of the flip, Seneca Williams' team will lead."

Seneca nodded and extended his coffee-colored hand to the sky. "London Blitz time, team. Let's go." His Pokémon rapidly moved into position. Blaze begrudgingly slunk back to a defensive stance in front of the circular goal. Iris and Night fluttered two meters off the ground. Flying-types weren't allowed to gain too much altitude, but every meter counted when the Pokémon were relatively small. The ref tossed the ball into the air, and the match began. Night the Golbat rushed forward to grab it, quickly taking possession. Haunter and Gengar rushed towards him to swipe the prized orb. The ciel bat barely missed a beat and curved sharply to gain the angle and momentum needed to send the forty ball blasting through the air to his partner waiting down the field. Gastly reflexively rushed towards the ball and the Butterfree set to receive it, moving away from the goal.

"Hold back," Ulysses commanded.

The Gastly stopped in mid-air to turn back towards its trainer with a confused expression. Gengar was seconds away from Ulysses' Butterfree, Iris. That was all the time the bug needed. As the ball came in Iris gave her (almost adorable) attempt at a war cry and snatched it out of the air mid-flight. The force her reeling back several meters as she struggled to redirect the ball's course. She beat her Ivory wings as quickly as possible until they blurred together and she began to slow. Her gaze shifted to the goal, now just meters away, and she stopped beating her left wing. The force sent her reeling in a crazed spin until she was facing her target and slammed the ball forward with all the might attached to her exoskeleton. Gastly swerved in its cloud to see the ball come into the goal right behind it, the entrance angle completely changed by Iris' recoil. Ulysses pumped his fist in the air.

"London Blitz: works every time."

"A word of advice: never try to play a misdirection game with an amateur magician. You may win the opening gambit, but by the end of the performance you will be left staring at the ground, wondering how such marvelous trickery is possible. Phantom force. Go."

"Night, watch for Gengar. Iris, take Haunter." His Pokémon called their assent as the two ghosts slowly advanced across the field, slowly approaching the mid-field line where play would begin, looking warily in all directions. Charmeleon grumbled as he pawed the dirt in front of the goal. "I know, buddy, you can play offense when you evolve. For now you're my only team member durable enough to take the goal," Seneca whispered.

At the centerline, Gengar held the ball in his hands, carefully eyeing the court without regard to the ticking clock. Seneca ran his gloved hands together anxiously. When he was six his parents had taken him to see a Lavender Spirits game. Their star's Gengar zipped down the field faster than even an Arcanine , nimbly leaping in and out of shadows and small pockets of darkness to score within seconds. Night was fast but if Tanner's Gengar was trained he might not be fast enough.

Suddenly, the ghost-type took off down the field, bolting straight towards the defending bat. As Night moved in, the ball was launched to Haunter materialized near Iris. The Butterfly raised her wings to block off as many possible shots as she could, quickly moving in closer to the nearby ghost. Why would Tanner deliberately keep the ball close to his Pokémon? There wasn't a second one there. A quick scan of the field showed that Gengar was near Night, Haunter was cornered by Iris, and Gastly… was nowhere to be seen.

"Iris, watch-" Suddenly the Haunter lunged to the left. Iris tried to follow, but her shadow whipped around to face her. Gastly popped out and gave a low, terrible wail that made John shake in the stands. Butterfree recoiled in horror, allowing Haunter to rush uncontested before lobbing the ball to the goal with its disconnected hand. Blaze jumped as high as his repitilian legs would launch him, flexing his back muscles on the off-chance that he had wings. With every ounce of his power he jumped, reaching for the strength to go just another inch to scratch the ball. But he had neither the wings nor the legs to do it. The ball descended through the goal from the highest trajectory possible, bringing the score to 1-1. Gastly stuck its tongue out at Iris as it flew back, leaving the butterfly shuddering and rubbing her tiny hands together. Seneca cursed under his breath. He had met Iris when he found a Caterpie shuddering in a meadow, too afraid to even launch a String Shot at a descending Spearow. Through the years she had learned to stand up to Lickitung's, Koffing, and even Rhydon in matches. But ghosts? That was another level of fear.

"Ta-da." Ulysses Tanner bowed. "Care for another go?

"But of course."

"Haunter, Gengar: Keep doing what works."

"If I'm remembering right, your defense doesn't work. So please keep doing it."

Ulysses laughed. "How narrowly you think."

Seneca paused for a moment, glancing over the arena once more for any obvious threats he missed the first twenty times. "Iris, Night: keep going."

Night blasted the ball to mid-field with a bit less power than his field-crossing pass. Unless he specifically ordered it, his Pokémon would never use that strategy twice in a row. They shared too many memories of a fast bird scooping the pass up and scoring in the first few seconds. Iris caught it in her legs without moving back more than a meter and fluttered forward again, ducking to dodge the approaching Gengar before she tossed it back to Golbat on the other side. The bat rushed forward until Haunter floated a few meters away, sweeping back a few centimeters to keep distance between them. Night swerved to the side to glance at Seneca who simply shook his head. Unnerved by the Haunter's lack of motion, Night blasted it off to his partner. At least the Gengar was behaving predictably. The Butterfree caught the ball once more without incident, and turned towards the goal upon stabilizing herself. Just as she prepared a final heave around the guarding Gastly, Gengar shot up from right below her, tongue outstretched. Iris shrieked and the ball slipped from her hands. Haunter raced from his position near Golbat and grabbed the ball.

"Back," Seneca whispered in a panic. His Butterfree and Charmeleon wouldn't hear it but, more importantly, neither would Ulysses. Night and Haunter blitzed nearly unopposed through the air towards Seneca's goal, leaving behind a shaking Butterfree. Haunter fired a rapid pass to Gengar, who glared at the fire-type blocking its path. Just as the ball entered its hand, a light blue blur descended from the sky and snatched the ball away into the sky. Night screeched in delight, the ball held solidly in his fangs.

"Iris, back to the goal. Blaze and Night, take to offense."

"Fall back."

As the Pokémon shifted positions, Blaze scooped up the ball. Baccer was a momentum game. Seneca had lost five of his first seven matches because he had not aggressively pursued the ball when he had a chance. Why would Ulysses, presumably an experienced player, do so now? For the two-hundreth time in the match, Seneca looked at every shadow and discolored area on the field. "Proceed carefully." The Chameleon began to move forward, holding the ball in one hand and advancing low to the ground. He couldn't go above or outrace his opponents, but if worst came to worst he could still duck below them. Night flew quietly nearby and sent out imperceptibly high-pitched screeches to check for threats. At once, the two ghosts began to rush the duo of attackers, quickly blitzing between them and making lunges at Blaze in an effort to get him to release the ball. Night flapped and screeched all around the area, trying to force them away. The Charmeleon himself soldiered on, moving past and through the phantoms as necessary.

Gengar slipped back in the shadows and watched as Haunter and Golbat continued their duel over Blaze, lunging and swiping at each other to force their opponent away. The slow lizard slowly marched forward, oblivious to the chaos above. In time the fire-type got ahead of both combatants above him, as neither could make any progress down the field without the other intercepting. Haunter would be blocked by a rapid dive from Night. The Golbat couldn't get past the disembodied hands that Haunter could project. Freed from apparent adversity, Blaze's grip gradually slackened. Blurring with the shadows on the field, Gengar slipped right under the Charmeleon and merged with the light distortions cast by the reptile's fiery tail, leaving it free to search for the perfect angle to strike from. Finding one that was satisfactory, it rushed from the ground, through Blaze's claws, and launched the ball into the air where Haunter caught it. Then he materialized in a cloud of cold smoke and began to float down the field. The Charmeleon followed as fast as his legs could carry him while Night rushed back, joining his fellow flying-type at the goal. The ghosts searched for every possible angle around the defense but where thwarted. They couldn't assume a shadow form while they carried the ball, and when they did Seneca would follow the light patterns with a watchful eye, shouting out the opponents' locations.

Even Blaze's arrival at the goal changed little. The ghosts would tussle for the ball, then slip back to a better position when the odds turned against them. The fight inched closer to mid-field as the phantoms were repeatedly forced back by Night's deft maneuvering and Chameleon's dogged defense.

Back by the goal, Seneca watched the clock and the opponent's Gastly. While it probably couldn't move the ball with any precision due to its lack of hands or feet, it could still block shots and move the ball in its gas cloud. It could also scare his goalkeeper. He could clearly see Iris cowering as Haunter moved its hand to score the winning shot, Night rushing in too late as Blaze waddled down the field. The stalemate in mid-field continued in a rapid dance of dodges, feints, and lunges to secure or retain possession of the ball. Even if he did give orders, by the time his Pokémon heard the situation would have changed completely.

The two-minute warning sounded over the speakers. If Seneca was ever going to do something, it was time to set it in motion. "Iris," he called softly.

"Free."

"Drift up a bit. If there's an opening, take it."

"Free."

For almost a minute the insect did nothing but scan the ongoing battle. Even with her excellent eyes, the rapid flight of Night and the ghosts was absurdly hard to track. One would rise and move its hand into a position she could steal the ball from, only to dissipate in a cloud of smoke or hand it off to its partner. Eventually, though, Haunter was cornered. It moved the hand it held the ball end behind itself, trying to hold it back form a rapidly advancing Night. Gengar had been trapped on the other side of the bat, helpless to take a pass. "FREE!" Rushing through the field, Iris adjusted her path to stay meters away from Gengar, but took far too much pleasure in seeing a look of shock on Haunter's face as she snagged the ball from its hands and rushed towards the opposing goal before it could analyze what was happening. Gastly spread out its cloud to hinder her ability to score, but her complex eyes automatically detected the shroud's thinnest point. She flew straight at the ghost, daring it to back down with her facial expression while her abdomen shook with anxiety. But this was her moment. She had failed her trainer twice in the game and would not back down for a third time.

"Scare her, Gastly! Do something!"

Gastly finally shook its confusion off and let out an earsplitting wail. Iris' wings stop beating as she closed her eyes and shook in fear. Without her adjustment, Iris' momentum sent her crashing through the Gastly's outer cloud and up against the goal. Her wings hit metal and their ivory tint quickly adopted streaks of pink as her muscles relaxed and she plummeted to the ground. At the very last moment, through the shock, pain, and fear that came from fainting, she remembered to lift her legs up a little more, edging the ball through the goal.

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

John watched Seneca slink off after the match. He secured his sketchbook, now filled with quick drawings of ghosts and fliers, and stood up to pursue him. The skill and grace of the combatants had given him excellent sketch material, yet left him with plenty of questions he wanted answered. Rushing off, he found the staff member near the forest's edge.

"Hey!" Seneca turned, a bit confused as he attempted to recall where he had seen this participant.

"'Sup." The Baccer player analyzed the camper. He was much shorter than him and rather pale. He wasn't out of shape, but certainly not an athlete.

"I, uh, wanted to ask you some questions about the game."

"Oh, sure. Ask me anything, I guess."

"Your Butterfree- is it hurt?"

Seneca shook his head. "No, Iris just gets a little excited from time to time. I gave her some Potions a while ago, so she'll be fine by nightfall. It wasn't too serious anyway; bad for Baccer, but for a battle that would be nothing."

"How do you make her fight like that, if she gets hurt? Doesn't she want to stop?"

"The better question is how I can make her not play. If I'm being honest, she isn't the strongest of Pokémon, especially physically. She gets hurt from time to time because she plays like she's got the bulk of a Rhydon. I felt bad after she almost tore her wing in a school match, once. I decided to get another Pokémon to play in her place. Iris would still be my companion, just not play Baccer. I played exactly one match without her. After that she'd slip spores into my Ratatta's food just to keep him from playing and make me go with her. I felt even worse for the rat, so I slipped it back into the wild where I'd found it. She likes playing quite a bit."

"But, that doesn't make sense. Why?"

Seneca motioned for John to follow him as he walked up to the site of his next meeting. "I don't really know. We're pretty close. We've both saved each other from a fair few nasty situations, and after spending enough time with me in practice my Pokémon might know me better than my family. I take care of her, and she feels compelled to pay me back, I guess. Or maybe she just likes the game. I read something once about trainer's Pokémon being motivated to battle because it feels like the wild."

"Pokémon battle in the wild?"

"All the time. It's just safer when there are trainers watching over things. No fatalities if an attack goes wrong, no need to kill the opponent so it doesn't kill you. There's a reason that Pokémon evolved to learn attacks after all."

"No they didn't . The Voice made them that way."

"Well, there's a reason The Voice made them that way, then."

John considered whether or not this was a valid argument. He decided it was fair: if it existed in creation, it must have had a purpose. "What about your other Pokémon? Do they like competing?"

"They like it more than Iris. Night's a show-off, and he likes being able to display. Blaze likes battling more, since he's in a hurry to get his wings and show the world who's boss."

"He likes battling? Actual battling? Wait, you battle?"

"Yes, yes, and occasionally. It's the fastest way for him to grow, and he's really interested in growing. Iris and Night like me for our friendship. Blaze puts up with me because I can help him grow. The other two don't battle a lot, only as an occasional exercise for engaging in close-quarters struggles for the ball. But Blaze will wake me up at five every morning demanding I help him train. When I can find an opponent, he prefers battling."

"Huh. Strange." Why would a Pokémon like fighting? Why did they do it in nature, for that matter? And above all, if Pokémon were not meant to be with humans why did two of his like their position? "You said that you were friends with your Pokémon? Like, human friends?"

"Not quite. It's more complicated. We definitely care for each other and would sacrifice almost anything for the other. I even tell them stuff I wouldn't tell anyone here. But at the same time, they can't really talk back or understand some of the complex stuff. We have an emotional bond, but not really a full mental one. Am I making any sense?"

"Sort of. You do think of them as friends, though?"

"Absolutely. I probably spend more time with them than anyone. I _think_ most of my friends would stick with me through anything, but I _know_ my Pokémon will."

"Okay, then." That was odd, too. Pokémon and people could be friends? He thought the Reverend had said it was impossible. Surely he was lying. But his Pokémon had seemed happy enough. What if he wasn't lying? The friendship sounded nice; John didn't really have anyone to talk to about personal problems like Seneca did. Well, there was always The Voice. When you had problems you did not burden the Community; you lifted them up to The Voice and it would solve them. But sometimes he wished that he could have an actual conversation about life with someone.

"I take it you don't have any Pokémon. Ever thought of getting one?"

Of course he hadn't. It was sinful to restrain a Pokémon and he had proudly told elders, teacher, and family that he would never own one several times in the past. It was part of what living in Umber meant. But he still paused for a moment before shaking his head.

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

1980

"Mommy, what's that?"

"That's a Rattata, dear."

"And what's that?"

"A type of Pokémon."

"Pokémon?"

"Yes, animals who live outside of the Community. Most humans enslave them to fight each other."

"That's bad!"

"Yes, it is. That's why we don't allow them in the Community. If The Voice had meant for humans to force the Pokémon to fight each other, he would have allowed us to control them without technology."

John was appalled that people could do something so mean. He was glad to live in a good place. It was his first time outside and he was already learning about how bad everywhere else was. It was his first hike with the Junior Camper Unit in Umber. They had hiked for hours yesterday before camping and hiking even more today. It was exhausting! He had never walked this far in his life.

The group was currently resting in a clearing in Viridian Forest on lands that the local camp owned. The woods were usually thick, but occasionally in places like this there would be an area with access to the sky and sun. He liked that. The dark was creepy. The Rattata he had seen was currently resting in a large hole three meters up the largest tree that John had seen in his life, situated in the middle of the otherwise empty patch of land.

Another child came over to him. "What are you looking at?"

"It's a Ratta, up there! See it!"

"In the hole?"

"Yes."

"I see it! Up there! But, what's a Ratta?"

"It's a type of Pokmon, which is an animal that other people make fight each other for no reason at all. We don't do that in Umber though. We're good people."

END FILE 1.1: JET BLACK

PROGRESS TO FILE 1.2: AUBURN


	3. File 12: Auburn

OPEN FILE 1.2: AUBURN

And you, Capernaum, will you be lifted to the heavens? No, you will go down to Hades. For if the miracles that were performed in you had been performed in Sodom, it would have remained to this day.

Matthew 11:23

1984

Silence engulfed the room as Reverend Xavier took the pulpit.

"Good evening, candidates."

"Good evening, Reverend."

"Today we will continue with your initiation training by discussing faith and miracles. Faith is the most powerful force in the universe. Humans are weak and can do nothing alone, but by the power of The Voice they may accomplish great things. In order to do these, they must first ask and believe. To display Our Creator's power, its Prophets have historically done things that were seen as impossible by the people around them. This showed that they were speaking for something above the world. The most important Prophet, Kuracanto, was known for driving demons and plagues from every town he entered. At the time, this region was a state ruled by an absolute dictator of a Champion who crushed all dissent from the masses. He was displeased by the increasing fear and love the people held for Kuracanto, so he drove him away over the sea. There he survived without food and water for thirty days before arriving on an island far out in the ocean. Upon landing, he converted the local inhabitants with the power of The Voice and organized the faith into the form we practice today in Umber."

"The average believer is not Kuracanto, but they could still perform miracles if they had enough faith. Indeed, that is a motif of Testament: any person at all, from any background, can do fantastic things through the power of The Voice. For believers still trying to wander the darkness of the world, this is a great power to help endure the inevitable persecution that comes with the intolerance outside of the Community. For those of us blessed enough to be here, it is the means through which we may preserve this hallowed place and demonstrate our virtue and power to the rest of the region, so that they may join us in harmony and belief one glorious day."

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

1988

For the most part, few people ever entered or left Umber. Every once in a while a new home would be lit and gossip would fly around the Community. Women would rejoice and praise The Voice publicly, only to gossip about the newcomer's sinful past when they were alone. Men would congregate by the new arrival's home to repair it and move the approved possessions in. As the weeks streamed by, every single family in Umber would visit the new home. John was fine with hospitality – maybe the new people would actually like the same things he did– but he still tugged at the stiff collar he normally only had to wear to Chapel, rubbing the itchy spot on his neck that seemed to seer in protest at two consecutive days of torture.

"I hear they have a kid your age, John," Mrs. Weaver candidly said. "And supposedly they're really upstanding folk. Mr. Jones was a minister down in Fuchsia for a time."

John nodded. Newcomers were nice, even if the child was the typical minister's kid. There weren't many kids in Umber. Of the few that there were, almost all wore their church clothes proudly and held their Testament at all times. They sneered when they talked, lifting their chin in such a way that it was clear who was morally superior. He tried talking to one of his better acquaintances about Baccer after the break. John barely said three sentences before the kid cut him off, claiming that he had no interest in such profane activities. Discouraged, he tried talking to another boy his age about Viridian and the forest. They haughtily told him that there was no need for him to learn about anything outside the walls of Umber. John had liked Umber and he liked Baccer, but he found it impossible to keep talking about it when doing so led to the cessation of whispering whenever he entered classrooms and pointing fingers immediately lowering whenever he turned around. Still, another acquaintance could not hurt. At least they would not immediately judge him.

As he looked around him, John's hand reflexively lowered to his sketchbook. It was the tail end of Summer in the Viridian area; the weather was warm but not oppressive and the trees were fern or forest green and vibrant. It did not have the same variety of colors as Autumn, which meant that he needed fewer utensils to draw it.

"Ah, here we are."

They stood in front of a recently vacated stone house on the edge of the Community. The previous occupants were now serving as missionaries in an archipelago far away, so the home had been approved for reassignment. It, like most other buildings in Umber, was made of stone due to a command in Testament to "think of eternity in all things; all that is worthwhile lasts beyond the fading present." John thought the verse was referring to salvation, but the Elders had decided it was also a divine building code warning against wood. They must have been really smart to see it that way.

A man opened the door after two knocks. "Why, hello. More visitors, I presume?"

"Yes, we're the Weaver family. We brought food and greetings to welcome you to Umber."

"Ah, do come in." He turned to John. "My daughter, Andrea, is out back. You would probably rather talk to her than us old folk."

"Yes, sir." John saluted and walked around the house to the woods. The forest crept right up to the home. A path of trampled, browning grass only slightly wider than John led back into the forest, probably pressed down by the occasional migrating deer or larger Pokémon. Not seeing anyone, he began to walk down the trail. Birds of all colors, from nearly neon green to teal to pantone, jumped from branch to branch in the canopy, joined by occasional Pidgey who rested on the larger branches, pecking into the wood with their short beaks. John smiled as he walked, his hand absentmindedly tracing in the air as he watched the Pidgey preen their wings. Glancing down from the upper levels of the forest, he spotted an odd color for the woods: auburn. His expression sunk momentarily but he quickly whipped it into a forged smile. Nature time was over; time to be nice to people.

.- -. -.. .-. . .- .- - -. . ...

There was something in the woods. An ethereal glow had shone before Andrea Jones' feet, reaching out to her until her very soul pushed her to follow. With supernatural exuberance she had bounded down the narrow trail, not even stopping to put on shoes. Her father had sighed and continued stacking boxes. He had learned years before there was no stopping her daughter. Now that she was in the middle of the forest the glow had subsided. Only sunlight and birdsong surrounded her. What was she supposed to see? Maybe it wasn't there yet. She turned her gaze inward, focusing intensely on The Voice and her own mind. A soft hum rose from her throat, rising and falling rhythmically like a chant with indistinguishable notes. For minutes she scoured the darkness of her eyelids, searching for any further clues as her hum continued.

_A-HEM._

Andrea blinked and turned around to see a pale boy, apparently about her height and age, facing her. "Hi. Sorry about that there, just lost focus for a second."

"It's fine," the boy replied, an eyebrow raised. Ugh. She had already made a terrible impression. How long had she been standing there? She glanced down at her feet. Bare feet. On a trail filled with thorny plants. Well, there was always a chance he wouldn't catch that. "My name's John. I live on the eastern edge of Umber."

"My name's Andrea. I'm fourteen. And you?"

"Also fourteen."

She smiled. Okay, if John hadn't already dismissed her as crazy, which he surely had, there was a chance that they could be friends. Now to change the conversation to something that would make her seem a little bit more normal. "Great. So, what do you do for fun around here?"

"Fun?" Great. Even wanting to make small talk made you insane around here. Umber was going to be utterly fantastic. "Well, I work for the Campers in the Summer. I also draw. Other than that, there's not a lot to do in the Community other than homework and going to Chapel."

"Really? You don't do anything for fun here? No sports, clubs, anything?"

John shook his head. "Not really. The Elders think most of that is sinful."

"I see." Well, there went Plans A through Y. As silence settled in, Andrea desperately thought back through anything they might be able to connect on. Suddenly the forest departed and she entered another scene entirely.

.- -. -.. .-. . .- .- - -. . ...

Trees still surrounded her, but they seemed far taller now. She was wearing a small olive green uniform, surrounded by a horde of small children in the uniforms as well. Her legs were filled with boundless energy, a desire to run run run as far as she could. Some of the other kids were chasing each other a dozen or so meters away. Their parents were yelling after them, trying in vain to herd them into straight line.

An air horn blew in the distance and a collective groan rose from the kids. All of the children began to walk, if slowly and begrudgingly, towards the cars in a distant parking lot. Andrea followed them. It felt like the right thing to do. Once they reached the lot, she milled around with other kids before a very tall adult– her father!– walked up to her. "Hi, Andrea. Did you have fun?"

"Yeah! The Safari Zone was really big and the Pokémon there were cool."

"So you think you'll like Camping?"

.- -. -.. .-. . .- .- - -. . ...

Oh. Right. That had happened, however many years ago. And she just lost focus again. Well, there any chance she had to make up for her poor start went.

"Well, I did Camping for a while. Maybe I could get back into it."

"You could," John said, relaxing as the awkward moment passed. "The Unit here doesn't do a whole lot , though. We hike every once and a while, but we just meet up and read Testament or talk about Prophets at most of our meetings."

"Do you like that?" Andrea inquired.

John cringed and looked over Andrea for a moment as he formulated his answer. "Not really. I mostly go to Viridian to do the cool stuff. It's only two hours away when I can get a ride on the Community van or a friend in the city. It'd be faster, but the road is bad."

"So people do leave the borders from time to time?" Yes. If all else failed, she could at least meet people outside.

John shook his head. "Not really, no. Only a few people ever leave at all."

Well, there that option went. "Could I go with you on one of these trips, then?" she blurted out. Why? He was going to say no. He almost certainly thought she was a wierdo, zoning out twice on him and hanging out in the forest barefoot.

"Sure, I guess. The only thing I'm going to for a few months is a service project, but if you want to come and can talk the Elders into letting you."

"Thank you!" Okay, at least he was willing to lie to her and be nice. Second chances were always good.

A call came from the edge of the forest, bidding them to come.

"Well, I guess we should start walking back now," John said, poorly hiding his relief.

"Yeah." They walked for a few meters before Andrea spoke again. "May I ask you one more question?"

"Sure, go ahead."

"The teaching here... you mentioned it's focused on sin and punishment."

"Very much so."

"Do you agree with it?" John stopped, confused and stunned. Well, she'd already lost him there. Might as well keep pushing ahead. She could always make other friends. Hopefully. "I mean, of course there is sin, but do you believe that it's the central point of relating to The Voice? Do you think that the full meaning of Testament is taught here?"

"I, well," John lapsed off, losing focus for a moment as he considered his answer. Andrea resisted the urge to smile. At least she wasn't the only one who awkwardly left conversations. "I'm not sure."

At last Andrea smiled and continued to walk down the path, taking special care to step around large twigs and thorns. "I think we could be friends."

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

"Weaver!"

"Hi, Seneca." John waved as his older friend on staff ran up to welcome him.

"How's it going back in Umber?"

"Same as usual. Drawing and going to school and Chapel."

"Nice." Seneca turned to face Andrea as she walked up from the departing Community van. "Hey, there. My name's Seneca Williams. I take it you're from John's unit."

"Andrea Jones. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Well, come inside." Seneca waved towards the building behind him. The outer walls were coated in a dull gray paint, now visibly cracked and covered in grime. "We can catch up later and there's lots of painting to do inside."

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

The room was huge, not quite as large as the Chapel, but easily the second largest John had seen in his life. Several stations were scattered throughout the area to divide up the work. Even then, John still found himself stepping back to stare at the enormity of the wall. How would this ever get painted?

"You're staying the night in Viridian, right?" Seneca inquired.

"I was planning on it. Is it alright if I stay at your house?"

"Of course. Your girlfriend coming along?"

John's brush stopped. "You know we don't really do that in Umber, right?"

Seneca's brush stopped. "You mean you can't hook up? What gives you that idea?"

"It would be a distraction or something. I don't really remember; it made sense."

Seneca rolled his eyes and resumed pulling his brush across the cracked layer of dry, old paint currently on the wall. "Yeah, because doing what The Voice made us to do is really going to damn you for eternity, isn't it?"

"I never said I agreed, just– I don't see her like that, anyway."

"Eh, whatever. She can stay in my brother's room. You can take the couch in the living room."

"Thanks for offering your room. Great hospitality, there."

"Believe me, if you saw my room right now you would be begging for the couch."

"Probably."

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

As soon as the day's shift was over and the site secured for the night, Seneca rushed towards the door, waving for John and Andrea to follow him.

"What's the rush? It's only five." John called after him as he hurried to catch up.

"If we want to get dinner before the game starts, we need to hurry."

"Game? What game?" Andrea asked, now walking beside the two boys.

"What she said," John added.

"Huh. I guess I did forget to tell you. My mom sells tickets for Viridian Stadium. She managed to set aside from extra seats for tonight's Baccer Game. Saol's playing, so I thought you would want to come."

"Saol's in Viridian! When did she get here and why didn't you tell me?" John asked.

"Relax, she's only been here for a few days. I didn't think you could get out until the project, anyway." Seneca replied.

"Saol's a Baccer player, right?" The looks that John and Seneca cast him told her all that she needed to know. "Okay, at least I'm not totally out of touch with culture. I didn't know you were a Baccer fan, John."

"I'm not- okay fine, Seneca. Yes, I am. I can't really talk about it in Umber because of the training prohibition." John paused. Wait. Prohibition. Right. Most residents didn't like training. Well, there went the one person his age who didn't think he was a heretic. "If you don't want to watch the game, I'll stay at Seneca's house with you."

"It's fine. I never really understood the ban and I don't think either of you will tell anyone in the Community about it."

"If that's decided," Seneca interjected, "What are you two hungry for? There are a lot of places to eat on this side of town."

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Viridian, do we have a match for you tonight!" The crowd exploded in cheering and whistling before the announcer raised his hand and it slowly subsided. "Today in the Red Corner, we have a visiting master. Her name is legendary and her record backs it up with a phenomenal 286-18 win ratio. Coming from 49 consecutive wins, the record for a female player, she hopes to secure her 50th tonight. Give it up for the Celadon Striker, Saol!

The audience once more exploded in an uproar of applause as the famous player took the stage in an explosion of green light and smoke, her jungle green uniform illuminated through the cloud. She waved and the noise rose even more until eventually the referee had to signal for order to return.

"In the Blue Corner we have a relative newcomer to professional Baccer. He is currently 6-2 in his rookie season, although he was recognized by _Baccer Monthly _as one of the ten most promising newcomers of the year. Can he match the proven power of the Celadon Striker? Ladies and gentleman, let's welcome Guillermo Iglesias!"

"I think he went to Fuchsia College. Do you know him?" John asked Andrea over the respectful-but-weak shout of approval.

"No, Fuchsia has tens of thousands of people so I really don't know everyone there."

John looked around the stadium for a moment. There were probably ten times as many people as the population of Umber, maybe more. It was foolish of him to think that Andrea would have known a college student there. Even if he spent a year, John would never learn the name of everyone in this building. He knew the overwhelming majority of Umber's inhabitants on a personal basis. Thank The Voice that he could live in a comforting environment like that.

"We'll perform the coin toss and get the game started soon, but first we request that all in attendance please rise for the national anthem, performed by the choir of Viridian High."

Almost of the audience rose to their feet in an upwelling sea of humanity, but John and Andrea remained firmly planted, looking down at their hands and ignoring the stares. Only The Voice needed to be honored. Respecting other authorities was rejecting the true one. An older man behind them muttered about unpatriotic youth, and John frowned. Why should he be patriotic? Why did he have to feel guilty for doing what was right.

After the anthem was sung, the crowd sat back down and the coin was tossed.

"Heads! Guillermo Iglesias will begin tonight's match with possession of the ball."

"Vinestrike, Guardstrike, Gripstrike: come on out!" Saol roared as she sent out her famous trio of powerhouses.

"Venusaur!" A speckled grass-type the size of a car materialized in front of the goal, spreading her flower and vines wide and hugging the ground. "Saur!" she snorted, flicking her vines to demonstrate her reflexes and power to the crowd.

"Hitmon, Hitmonlee!"

"Pinsir!"

A humanoid slab of muscle appeared close to the edge of the arena, rising two feet higher than he appeared at just by flexing his white elastic legs. He had no mouth and his eyes were devoid of emotion, gazing across the field to detect any possible advantages. Nearby a human-sized stag beetle formed, frothing at the mouth and roaring as he clicked his vicegrip closed and dug his heals into the dirt to prepare for battle.

"Erato, Clio, and Thalia, I choose you!" Iglesias was deathly afraid; his heart raced and he had to spend all of his mental energy just to keep focusing on the game. Yet his face was still locked in an arrogant half-smile and he stood as tall as he could. He wiped his brown bangs out of his eyes, staring confidently at his opponent and her death squad of a team. His three girls formed in the grass and slithered into position. Clio, his Dragonair, shot through the thin layer of vegetation on the field to rise up near the center-line. She instantly struck a pose, rattling her tail and weaving through the air with her head and the top of her body. Her ivory scales glistened as if polished gems. Erato, Iglesias' Arbok, soon burst out nearby to spread her marked frill. Children in the front seat began to wail as the snake hissed, slowly alternating back and forth as she displayed her hideous markings to the enemy. Finally, Thalia the Onix rose up near the goal and delivered an earth-shattering roar as she slowly drew herself boulder by boulder to her maximum height. The sound of her motion was even louder than her roar, echoing throughout the entire stadium as if an earthmover was tearing up the turf.

"I take it snakes are good at this game," Andrea mused as she watched Guillermo's team appear.

"Snakes are usually decent, not great, but Iglesias they're pretty much the only way to stop Saol. She has a fantastic ground game and a strategy to counter birds, so lying low to the ground where her Pokémon can't easily hit is ideal. Dugtrio and snake Pokémon do that best, but he doesn't have a Dugtrio to the best of my knowledge," Seneca answered.

"After a five second countdown play will begin and continue for twenty-five minutes, or until one side scores eight points," the referee bellowed from the field below. "Should there be a tie at the end of standard play, tie-breaking procedures will begin. Now, if you will count with me."

"FIVE, FOUR, THREE, TWO, ONE, GO!" The crowd roared as the ball was put into play.

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

"So we begin. Viper slide, go." Clio took the ball and rapidly dived into the thigh-high grass until the flash of her ivory scales was almost invisible. Erato hissed for a second before she folded up her flap and dropped to the ground to slither towards the opposing team. Thalia the Onix rose up a little and coiled her massive stone body twice as she watched with interest, the harsh grinding causing babies to cry in the audience. Even the adults winced or covered their ears.

"Guardstrike and Gripstrike, root them out. Vinestrike, keep your guard up." Saol was clear and confident, apparently not intimidated by the advancing serpents. But for whatever they had in skill and power, Saol's team moved deliberately and slowly. They easily spotted the snakes, but their weak attempt at running through the grass was countered by simple changes in direction. Guardstrike at last cornered Clio, but the dragon kept sweeping her magnificent tail away from Guardstrike's kicks at the earth, abusing his inability or unwillingness to bend down and pick the snake up. Gripstrike hardly tried to stop the offensive, frustrated by his inability to quickly kick or bend over and grab the snake. The ball moved less than thirty centimeters from the ground, yet it was unreachable in the serpents' mouths.

"When you said Saol was good," Andrea muttered, "this wasn't quite what I had in mind."

"Just keep watching," Seneca replied.

Mere seconds after he finished speaking, Clio burst forward in a streak of white, racing beside Venusaur and reaching up near the goal, her body coming almost a meter off the ground as she threw the ball with her mouth. "Now!" Saol shouted. Vinestrike whipped her vine to the side, nicking the ball with it and shifting it onto her head with a supersonic hit. Then she stood as high as possible on her front legs while sitting down with her haunches, causing the embarrassed Clio to rush out of the way before being crushed. With a mighty _thwack_ her vines swiped up from behind the ball, launching it up the makeshift ramp of Vinestrike's head. Before Onix could lift herself up, another figure leaped above the ground like a missile or superhero. It slowed near the ball and seemed to stop entirely for a second before spinning in a brown blur. Part of the twist struck the ball, sending it flying straight towards Iglesias' goal with impossible speed and percision. The magnetic sensors detected it and a buzz echoed through the stadium as Guardstrike finally landed on the Earth, compressing on his highly flexible legs as Venusaur roared in pride.

"Did she just… wow," Andrea whispered while Seneca and John applauded. "I didn't know Pokémon could do that."

"Most can't. Saol's just really, really good." John replied.

Saol congratulated her team as Iglesias' snakes slithered back into position shocked and humiliated. The referee gave the signal for play to resume, and Iglesias picked up the ball and tossed it to Thalia. The Onix rose up as high as she could until she finally stopped and surveyed the world from five meters up. The audience let out a collective sigh of relief as the terrible grinding of rock on rock stopped. Clio and Erato were rapidly moving down the field, and the opposing Venusaur was playing firm defense. Even the enemy Pinsir and Hitmonlee were backing up. She carefully scanned for an opportunity, unafraid of attacks at her height so long as she kept an eye on the annoying Hitmonlee. Upon finding an opening she was willing to take, Onix whipped her head towards the ground and let go of the ball at such an angle that it flew straight towards Erato, who leapt up from the grass with her frill prominently displayed. Suddenly, a brown blur once more rose into the air and seemed to merge with the rapidly moving ball before chucking it back to the earth at a different angle, straight into the grip of Vicestrike.

"Offense, now!" Saol's command was merely a formality as her Pinsir was already rushing forward with Guardstrike. The snakes tried to get back, but Gripstrike had a head start and was holding the ball high in his impossibly strong deathgrip. Rushing across the field, Pinsir jumped over Clio as she tried to trip him with her incredibly long tail, and simply dodged to the side when Erato sprang up. The snakes were powerless to stop the rampaging bug and he knew it. Onix tried to move quickly enough to snap up the bug, causing half the stadium to swear at the sound of rocks hitting rocks quickly, but she was far too slow and her maw never came within a meter of the powerful offensive player. Gripstrike leapt over Thalia's body, spread his wings to break, and slammed the ball into the goal, gripping the rim to stop as Iglesias scowled and his snakes hung their heads.

In the stands, John's pencil rapidly paced the page. Dragonair's grace, even in shame, was a sight to behold and nearly impossible to capture correctly on the page. He tracked the snake's movements as best he could, cross-hatching to the best of his ability but the texture still seemed too dark, too densely hatched. He flipped to another page to look at a sketch of Seneca's Charmeleon. For a few seconds he stared at the scales before moving back to his main drawing, armed with a model. As he filled in the rattle's outline, Andrea turned to watch. She had never seen anyone that skilled at drawing before, especially when their subjects were leaping and slithering. Reasonably satisfied after a few minutes of sketching, John moved onto Onix. The Rock Snake stood relatively still most of the time. It was just a matter of sketching a series of circles and filling it in with the desired rocky texture, and after two minutes he had a satisfactory drawing. But by the time he was done drawing the two snakes and started on Hitmonlee, Saol had already scored twice more.

"I thought you said that snakes were a good counter to Saol," Andrea asked.

Seneca grunted. "No, I said they were the best counter. With Saol, there is a difference."

Before that exchange ended, the Celadon Striker's Pinsir had stolen the ball once more and passed it to Vinestrike. She rammed her head up to spike it as high into the air as possible, where Guardstrike caught it and passed it down to Gripstrike again. The Pinsir then tossed it to the Venusaur and the process continued as the snakes tried in vain to throw off the cycle. "Swarm Pinsir! You can get the ball yet!" their trainer called. Yet try as they might, Gripstrike would always brush the snakes off like they were nothing, Gaurdstrike would nimbly leap to the side and never be tied down, and Vinestrike simply stood up a little bit higher or flicked her opponents away with her long vines.

"What are they doing now?" This time it was John's turn to ask a dumb question, much to Andrea's relief.

"Juggling. Saol can't realistically score four more points before time runs out and she wants to shut her opponent out. If her team can keep control of the ball like that until time runs out, she wins 4-0. The one problem with using snakes against Saol is that they really don't have the physical power or aerial mobility needed to disrupt her when she starts juggling." Seneca scanned the aisles and noted a few people already standing up. "We won't miss much if we live now and we'll save ourselves from a lot of traffic later. Let's go."

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

"You know, Seneca, I think you missed a spot."

"Shut up, John. It's hard enough to move up here."

Seneca was perched four meters up the wall on a ladder, trying to paint the higher areas of the room that always seemed just beyond his fingertips, however high he reached. John and Andrea caught occasional drips below him as they painted the more down-to-earth portions on the wall. Moving the ladder took all three of them almost three minutes– three valuable minutes they could be painting with– so Seneca desperately reached for the areas on the far end of his edge, leaning and stretching to the point where falling felt almost inevitable, but just avoidable, to get new unpainted areas.

"No, I think he's right." Andrea decided to cash in on the joke. It seemed to amuse John. Maybe he'd like her more. "It's about two feet over to the right, between your current section and last."

"I don't see it."

"Oh, it's definitely there. Just reach over. Yes, just a bit more. Now that's about-"

_CRASH_

John and Andrea watched with wide eyes as Seneca lost his balance and fell from the ladder, hitting the concrete floor beneath him headfirst. A smear of rust red painted the ground upon impact. Andrea swore under her breath and rushed to his side, kneeling down beside him and flipping his body over to expose his bleeding head wound. "John, listen carefully. I need you to get a towel and some water. And prayer would be very much appreciated." The adults in the room had shaken their stupor and were running over. "No, trust me. Or The Voice, really. He'll be fine. I just need some space and some quiet now."

Her voice never faltered and she looked the adults straight in the eye. The situation was unorthodox, but the sight and the shock of the situation made them hesitate just enough to let a teenage girl take over. After John handed her a damp towel, she began chanting quietly in a strange language. _Dengan kekuatan suara, disembuhkan. _She rubbed the towel over the head wound before pressing down upon the gash with the cloth, the volume and pace of her chanting increasing constantly as sweat appeared on her brow. _Dengan kekuatan suara, disembuhkan. Dengan kekuatan suara, disembuhkan. Dengan kekuatan suara, disembuhkan._

Her sienna eyes jolted around the surrounding area looking for something, anything to draw strength from and her voice cracked at points, but no one stopped her. The chief supervisor called the hospital, but the foreground continued to be dominated by an increasingly desperate chant. _Dengan kekuatan suara, disembuhkan. Dengan kekuatan suara, disembuhkan. Dengan kekuatan suara, disembuhkan._

Tears were rolling down her cheeks now, and for a moment she stopped chanting altogether and looked up to the ceiling. _Maafkan aku__, __suara__, __jika saya__telah gagal__._

Andrea stared at Seneca's body in silence for a moment, her lips visibly but barely moving. Finally, she pulled the cloth off of Seneca's head. She exhaled and muttered something indecipherable, but apparently in English, under her breath before standing up. Andrea was shaking and her entire body was covered in a cold sweat, but her lips were still curled upwards in the faint form of a smile. "He'll be fine in a while. I'm sorry; that usually doesn't take so long." A moment later, Seneca groaned and began to stretch.

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

1989

"What did you think of today's sermon, honey?" Mrs. Weaver asked her husband as their son walked beside them on the way home from Chapel.

"Bah. Miracles, please."

"Are you saying you think the Reverend was wrong, dear?"

"Perhaps. For all of his big talk, 'You can do this if you believe enough' and 'the laws of nature shall bend if you believe enough,' all of it undermines his own arguments."

"How so?"

"If you believe enough and are doing something The Voice is pleased with, there will be miracles. Am I correct?"

"I believe that's what he said."

"Then why isn't the entire region in Umber right now? Or, for that matter, why do we have a flu epidemic every last winter? Why do people go hungry even here? In Testament the Prophets converted, cured, and fed through miracles. There are no miracles now. Do we believe enough?"

"I most certainly believe whole-heartedly in The Voice. It's why we gave everything to move here."

"Then either the preacher is wrong or The Voice is not pleased by what is going on here."

That was the first time John Weaver heard his father insult the clergy or the Community. He knew his father was wrong and that the Reverend was right, but in the dark recesses of his mind it still lurked, popping up from time to time in his dreams. It was definitely in his thoughts the night that Seneca's father took him back to Umber in his truck, unsure whether he should thank or curse the auburn-haired girl sitting in the backseat.

END FILE 1.2: AUBURN

PROCEED TO FILE 1.3: TITANIUM ORANGE


	4. File 13: Titanium Orange

OPEN FILE 1.3: TITANIUM ORANGE

I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.

Mathew 25:36

1984

"This week we shall discuss the relationship between proper believers and the state." Reverend Xavier cleared his throat. "For most of history, disciples have been persecuted by the governments and social structures of the world. The earliest disciples were martyred or fed to carnivorous Pokémon in savage battles. Later disciples were discriminated against for their beliefs, banned from living in certain cities or practicing certain professions. The world hates believers because of what we represent and because we will not conform to their wicked ways.

"A man can be pledged to but one power at a time. Society wants us to devote ourselves to their wicked and corrupted state. We cannot make oaths but to The Voice and we can follow no laws before those of the Prophets. Because of this, we have but two choices. We can live in glorious isolation as we do here, practicing Testament and the law of the Prophets freely without restriction. Here there are no pressures to defect to the pagan's armies or renounce The Voice. Or, we may make the state synonymous with our Communities so that all of earth lives in glorious peace and tolerance. If we live by the standards of truth for long enough here, eventually the weary world will decide to come voluntarily and we shall rule from Umber. But, it is possible to go out and make the world see the need to convert by seizing their institutions and forcing them to see the glories of The Voice. It is for this cause that many of The Voice's followers today fight the crime-tolerant government and its sinful ways so that one day we may regain the righteous power the followers of truth once held in this region.

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

1988

The forest clearing was alive with the colors of the late summer, shades of green ranging from fern to India. John's abundance of green pastels that he had paid other staff members dearly to buy for him moved across his sketchbook page. His hand was almost independent, trained through years of sitting down on the same old stump to draw the same old trees. At the end of the month he would hold last year's book up to his present one, marveling at the changes that another year brought to the forest and his skill.

"How was camp this year?" Andrea Jones asked as she sat down next to him on the log.

"Pretty good. I got ambushed by a Camper in war-paint perched a tree with his pocket knife, but no one got killed so it was all good. How was your summer?"

"Boring. Back in Fuchsia kids could do more or less whatever they wanted when school was out. It's the safest city in the region, so parents could let their kids run around town without worrying too much. We would go to the zoo, relax on the beaches, or just play on the beach all day, enjoying the season. Here it's just work and studying. It kind of sucked."

"Welcome to Umber."

Andrea rolled her sienna eyes. " Right. Any chance they let me go to camp next year?"

"Umber might. The camp staff might not. Most of them are still scared of you after last September, no offense. Two years might be better."

The girl sighed and stared at her sandals. "None taken. That's actually why I had to leave Fuchsia in the first place." She fell silent until John glanced up from his painting to look at her. "It was fun being different for a while, able to heal little scrapes and speak strange languages. Parents didn't believe their kids, anyway. When your friends get older and start looking for targets to build up their own self-esteem, being the special one isn't so fun. But hey, at least there's no judgment here in Umber." She rolled her eyes. "None at all."

But Umber only judged practices that should be judged. John opened his mouth to say it, but the barely visible condensation on his friend's eyes made him stop. Besides, if he argued she would win and he would have wasted hours of valuable sketching time. And maybe make her feel even worse. His pastel once again traced the outline of a distant leaf and John's focus shifted until his world comprised only of a plant, his tools, and a piece of paper. It took Andrea three throat clearings to get him to look back up.

"Have you heard about the Center Bill?"

"Sort of. I think I heard it referenced once when I was watching the news in main camp. Why? What is it?"

"It's a League Bill that mandates every village with more than five-hundred people accept regional money to build a Pokémon Center. It affects a few places, like the Power Plant workers community and the slopes of Mt Moon, but it would also cover Umber. Normally, I wouldn't think that accepting food, jobs, and medicine would be a big deal. Helping people is supposed to be a good thing, right? But in our glorious Community, any interference from the government is a problem."

"Are there even any trainers in the area to help?"

"No, but some of the Elders are worried that opening one would attract them and potentially corrupt the youth. Who would ever question their faith just because they met some trainers?" John silently prayed that was a rhetorical question. "There's a public meeting tomorrow to discuss the issue. I want to go and at least make sure that all sides are considered. Will you come with me?"

What harm could going to a council meeting bring? "Sure, I've got nothing but Testament Study and Chapel until school starts again."

Andrea shifted her weight on the stump so that she brushed into John. "Thank you. It's been a lonely Summer."

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

Almost the entire town was in the Chapel when the Elders' Session began, but Andrea had dragged John there almost two hours early so they could stand in front. All those sitting in the pews rose as eight men of the Community, their hair gray or white and their movements slow, shuffled onto the stage and sat down around a conference table to begin the meeting.

"We are assembled here today to consider KR-1028 and its potential conflicts with Testament and the law of the Community," the Chairman proclaimed. "Beginning debate will be the venerable Mr. Applegate. Speaker, you have the floor."

"Thank you, Ted. As many of you have heard, this law is intended to force this Community and other similar areas into opening Pokémon Centers and expanding secular socialism into Umber. Testament is very specific on its command to decline gifts should they cause you to sin and the need to defy the law should it cause you to sin. We must refuse to follow this oppressive command for own spiritual well-being. Come what may, The Voice will protect us."

Mr. Applegate sat down and the Chairman turned to the other Elders. "Are there any questions for the Speaker?" He paused for a moment, but the Elders merely nodded their heads in agreement with their peer. "Seeing none, we move to the venerable Mr. Thompson. Speaker, you have the floor."

"Thank you. Mr. Applegate summarized my thoughts well, but I think we should first elaborate upon why compliance here would be a sin. To start, it provides temptation to our children. If we allow a symbol for the Pokémon League to enter our borders, it will send a message to our children that we support its values. And then where are we? Can we justifiably tell them that it is alright to agree to service the worst of sinners and then tell them that we should outright refuse to participate in their base games? It is no secret that since the rise of Titania, and perhaps even from the Second Holy Revolution, the mafia-dominated government has sought to infiltrate and subvert Umber to prevent us from rising for a righteous cause. This is an obvious attempt to place spies and traitors in our midst. What other reason is there to send healers for Pokémon to a Community that bans it?" I cannot –"

"You're wrong." The room went silent, trying to figure out if they had really just heard an Elder interrupted in council. John turned in horror to see Andrea confidently staring into Elder Thompson's eyes. "You're wrong and you either know it or never read the bill. It clearly states in Clause II that the law, 'Provides for the full funding of these Centers, as well as the dispatch of staff upon request from the municipal government.' If the council is so worried about infiltration, couldn't they just not ask for staff?"

"I, well yes. But my other arguments still stand. If we're done with interruptions from the congregation–"

"Not really. Sure, we might get a few trainers in the woods from time to time, but historically this hasn't been true. There's not even anything in this part of the forest for trainers to come for anyway. No gyms, no rare species, no spectacular sights. The only reasons they would come is if–"

"Ma'am, only Elders may speak at Council," the Chairman reprimanded.

"Testament says every believer is equal in faith. Kebanaran 3-12. As I was saying, there are two reasons for trainers to come. If they were hopelessly lost or if they came to see Umber itself. Testament–"

"While that may be true, we do have rules to ensure order. Please sit down–"

"And, as Elder Applegate said earlier, we have an obligation to defy laws that hinder The Voice's cause. If a trainer is hopelessly lost, Testament says that we have an obligation to care for the weak and helpless. Lemah 7-31. If they are coming to see Umber, that means that they will have a chance to minister to someone who came here seeking. Pokémon Centers elsewhere also care for humans, which would give Umber the opportunity to gain a hospital to care for our own seek and weary for free. For years we've prayed for an end to sickness in the Community. Perhaps our prayers have been answered."

"With that distraction out of the way, the Council will now recognize the next Elder, Mr. Plessey. Speaker, you have the floor."

"Thank you, Chairman Rutherford. As much as I hate to tolerate violations of order, I think the girl in the front speaks some truth. Prayer, while powerful, can do nothing if we are not willing to consider the help of the divine when it presents itself. I think we should at least consider accepting the law for now and review it at a later time when we have had the chance to see the effects."

"Acknowledged. Are there any questions for the Speaker?" One of the men raised their hand. "Mr. Rose, you have the floor."

"You assume that we will have volunteers here that will replace the need for staff. Who do you propose will volunteer for this, as clearly no devout follower of The Voice will?

Andrea raised her hand and Elder Plessey laughed softly. "Well, I think you might have one volunteer. That's part of why we should hold a trial period. We might get the people to help and the project might be a success for The Voice. If we do not, we just abandon the project. There's no harm in trying."

Elder Rose raised his hand again and the Chairman turned to him. "Mr. Rose, on follow."

"Who exactly would you like to lead this project?"

"Well, from discussions we had before this meeting, I don't think any of the Elders want to manage the Center." They all shook their heads. "I would be willing to take ultimate responsibility for it during its trial period, but I'm old. Someone else would need to do the work to get it operational. Perhaps the girl who feels so passionately about it wouldn't mind stepping up, if she truly believes in the cause."

The entire Council turned to face Andrea. I guess I could do that. I'd need to get out of schoolwork for a while, but I know a little about healing."

"There you have it. I motion that the execution of KR-1028 be placed under my authority with the right to delegate tasks to subordinates."

The Chairman nodded. "Is there a second? Seeing one from Mr. Harper, the Chair rules the motion in order at this time. All in favor?" Three hands were raised. "All opposed?" Elders Rose and Applegate signaled their opposition. "All abstained?" The remaining two votes were counted. "The motion passes three to two with two Elders abstaining. The Council authorizes steps be taken to comply with KR-1028 under the watch of the venerable Mr. Plessey and recognizes his rights to appoint subordinates as The Voice leads him. Seeing no further purpose for this session, the Chair adjourns the Council."

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

Andrea stayed after the meeting to talk to Elder Plessey about plans to open the Center. John waited for a while, but both sides gestures and excited voices made it clear that she would be occupied for some time so he went home. His parents were squabbling in the kitchen when he arrived.

"I tell you, Mr. Jones' daughter has more sense than the entire Community combined! We sit here all year and talk about miracles coming if we just pray hard enough, well you tell me what a miracle is if not a free hospital!" Mr. Weaver contended.

"It's not free. We risk losing our children to desensitization to Pokémon training. First we allow our kids to be around trainers, then they accept that training might not be wrong, and pretty soon they're heading down the road to Oak's lab to pick them up their own enslaved creature. It's a slippery slope. I mean, you've seen this John, right? Good people in the outside who just weren't brought up right, and now they can't help but think about sinning?"

"Sure, all the time."

"See! Just think how much worse it could be here?"

John went into to his room, not wanting to get dragged into the debate. Why did people care so much about training? Trainers weren't bad people, not most of them, anyways. Some Pokémon he had seen even liked being trained. Yes, there were flaws in the system and capturing Pokémon against their will was wrong. But surely treating trainers as if they were blasphemes or murderers wasn't fair.

There was a knocking at the home's front door and a minute later Mrs. Weaver knocked on John's door. "You have a visitor, John." He opened the door and saw Reverend Xavier himself standing in the small home's entranceway.

"Greetings, Master Weaver. Would you care to step outside for a moment, with me?"

"Yes, sir." The two walked outside and stood in the mid-day sunlight. Up close to him, John could see that Reverend Xavier was sweating a little under his black robes that he wore even in the summer.

"From what I have gathered, you are one of Miss Jones' better friends. Is this correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"I worry for her, but I doubt she would see reason from me and I loathe publicly contradicting the Community's elders. I do not doubt her intentions are noble, but the passions of youth are preventing her from seeing reason and risking the spiritual health of the Community. I ask that you go and try to talk her into seeing reason later today, for everyone's good."

"I'll see what I can do, sir. But I can't promise anything. She might even change _my_ mind."

"I appreciate your assistance. Keep your head while talking and remember that what you do is for the betterment of the Community."

The Reverend turned and walked away, ostensibly to find shade in the Parish or change out of his robes. John glanced through the window to look at a clock. Four in the afternoon. He figured that by the time he got to her house Andrea would be back so he set out to meet her.

He reached the Jones' house just as his friend came over the nearby hill to her home.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

As Andrea approached, John saw her eyes rapidly moving around with no clear reason. Beads of sweat hung on her skin, more thin he would have anticipated in the weather. Her hands trembled subtly and her face was drawn with worry.

"What happened at the meeting?"

"Um, do you mean what do I think about it?"

"No, what happened. I felt really drawn to attend, like obsessed with it, and I was there with you and one of the Elders was talking and– nothing. I don't remember anything. Next thing I know I'm alone in the stands as one of the Elders walks away. I've been getting lots of weird glances on the way out here, so," she inhaled deeply, "what did I do?"

"You remember nothing at all?"

"Nope?"

"Well," John dragged out his words and looked up, subconsciously wishing there was an easy answer in the sky to pull out. "You interrupted an Elder, quoted a lot of Testament, and more or less demanded we get a Pokémon Center. And then I think you volunteered to run it, but truth be told I still don't really understand what happened. Oh, and the Reverend wants your recantation or your head."

Andrea lashed her foot out a rock, watching it sail over the hill before collapsing on the ground. "Dammit. Being compelled to do the right thing sucks at times."

John sat down next to her. "Look, if you need help I can give it. I don't really get the whole possession thing, but if you're going to go through with this you'll need someone who can actually heal Pokémon. I can't do it well, but I'm still probably better than anyone here and I know people who can teach me."

"Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou–"

"You could pay me back by letting me breathe."

"Oh," she released John, "sorry about that. Just got carried away. You want to talk more about it now?"

"We can discuss it later, if you want. Give us some time to think things over. There's a two-day service project this weekend and Seneca has a game Saturday night."

"Are they still letting me go to those things?"

"Well, they never told me I couldn't bring you. Seneca's not really hateful, and he just asked that I keep my friends from killing him in the future. Hey, that was a joke. Don't take it too hard. He knows you didn't mean it and he's really glad you healed him. You can still come, if you want."

"Sure. Why not?" She was weakly smiling, but even John could see through it. He would have to remember not to bring that up in the future.

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

"Welcome, ladies and gentleman, to tonight's final match between the Viridian Bees and the Saint Gregor Flycatchers. Competing in this match are Senior Princeton Perry from Saint Gregor Academy in Saffron and Junior Seneca Williams from Viridian High." The crowd politely applauded as the two stepped up to the arena. Seneca's dark hair and eyes blended into his smoky topaz uniform and contrasted with the pure white clothes of his opponent.

"He sure let his hair grow long, didn't he?"

"Yeah, he did. Still not as long as yours."

"I'm a girl. It's different."

"Whatever." John opened up his sketchbook and took out a handful of pastels. Seneca's Pokémon were always a challenge to draw given their constant motion in battle, but it was one of his favorite challenges. He pulled out his titanium orange and cadmium red pastels and prepared to draw Blaze when he came out.

"Don't fail me, team," Princeton called. A Kangaskhan and Tauros appeared in his offensive line while a Snorlax crashed down in front of him.

"Wow, those are some rare Pokémon," Andrea whispered. "There were a few in the zoo in Fuchsia, but my friends told me that they were only found there and in the Safari Zone."

"I've only seen them on television," John noted as he made a quick outline of Snorlax. It wasn't only a few ovals and rectangles, but it was a baseline he could improve later.

"Blaze, Night, Iris: show time!" Seneca called as his Charizard, Golbat, and Butterfree materialized in front of him.

"ZARD!" The terrifying roar made most of the crowd cringe as Blaze lifted himself higher and spit a burst of fire. John turned the page and put his pastels to work as he tried to replicate the flames before they extinguished completely.

"He's got a Charizard?" Andrea asked.

"It's fairly new. It only evolved over the summer."

"As this is the fifth game and Viridian won the coin toss, Seneca will begin with the ball. As soon as it is tossed into play, the countdown will begin. As this is a team-based match and not an individual one, only ten minutes will be allowed."

The Junior nodded and lifted the ball to throw it in. "Iris, hang back. Night and Blaze, do what you do. Go!" He tossed the ball into the air and Blaze looped around to capture it. His massive frame easily took the weight of the ball and he began to rush towards the other goal, roaring as he did so. Night fluttered quietly beside him, using his superior speed and excellent senses to detect any potential threats. Iris hung back even farther, simply scanning for any potential reversals of fortune with her powerful compound eyes.

"Tauros, offensive position. Kangaskhan, stop that dragon!" Tauros rampaged down the field while Kangaskhan began to hop forward, gaining altitude with every hop. In one mighty leap, she soared high enough to reach Charizard.

"Swerve!" The dragon quickly moved out of the way and rushed past. Snorlax tried to sit up and block the goal, but the Charizard rushed down in a speedy dive and banked around the normal-type until he had the right angle to score. Blaze released the ball at that moment and flew up over the Snorlax. The ball's momentum sent it right over the bear's head and through the goal, earning Seneca his first point.

"Stupid Snorlax! Wake up, buddy, this is a game! A very important game!" Princeton yelled.

"Wow, trainers sure can be jerks," Andrea muttered to John.

"I know, but most aren't like that. Baccer players in particular are usually really nice to their Pokémon, since most of the game is the Pokémon working on auto-pilot. Drilling obedience into their heads doesn't really help."

"If he wants to play heavy-offense, show him what offense looks like, Tauros. No mercy!" Princeton tossed the ball to Tauros, who caught it in his maw and began to rush through the field, head down.

"Taur-OS!" The normal-type ran with his tails whipping behind him.

Seneca cringed. Bull attacks were not something he usually had to prepare for in Viridian games. "Blaze, get down there." His Charizard yelled to give his approval, and rushed to the ground, directly in front of Tauros. The bull slammed into the dragon, forcing it back a meter, but neither side would give in and let the other pass. Blaze grabbed Tauros' horns and held it in place while Tauros pushed with all of his might to overpower his opponent. For two excruciating minutes muscles bulged and steam and fire flew form nostrils as the Pokémon stood locked in a battle of strength, digging into the ground with all of their power and pushing forward with seemingly impossible strength. The other Pokémon stood back and watched, not willing to get involved in a trap with enough power to crush every bone in their bodies if it broke.

"Alright, change in plans. Night and Iris, prepare for Mission Impossible."

"Whatever he's planning, don't let him do it!"

The Golbat quietly flew over the two locked Pokémon as Seneca's Butterfree flew away from the goal to join her partners. Kangaskhan began to lumber towards the engagement to block any attempted action and Snorlax used all of his energy to sit up and watch. "Now!" Butterfree rushed towards Tauros' face, and swerved away at the last second. The normal-type looked up reflexivley and Golbat came swooping down to pry the ball from his mouth. Before either Blaze or Tauros realized they were no longer fighting for the ball, the two flying-types were bursting down the field, easily bypassing the slower Kangaskhan, and swooping towards Snorlax. As they got closer to the enemy goal, Golbat tossed the ball to Butterfree, who caught it and circled around Snorlax whose eyes crossed and twirled as he tried to track the orb.

"For the love of The Voice, hit her already!" Seneca's opponent shouted. Snorlax grunted, and swatted his massive paw at the bug with surprising speed. For a second the insect was entirely still and John jumped to his feet. Then the bear's force won and the Butterfree was instantly sent blasting to the arena's concrete walls, sailing over the sidelines before finally letting go of the ball as she went limp. "See that ref!" Princeton was ecstatic now. "See that! Not only are his Pokémon out of bounds, but so is the ball that _his_ Pokémon last touched! Two penalty shots!"

"Shut up, kid. Let me do the refereeing, here." He jogged over to where Iris was lying injured on the ground and handed her to Seneca when the trainer reached her. "If you don't object, I can have her taken to the Center while the game finishes." Seneca nodded, still stunned by what had transpired. "It is the referee's opinion that Seneca William's team left the bounds of play and led the ball outside of these bounds. For this Princeton Perry's team will be awarded two penalty shots."

"Alright! Great judgment there, ref!"

"I hate this job," the referee muttered just quietly enough to ensure the microphone didn't catch it. "But it is also the referee's opinion that the team of Princeton Perry committed excessive violence with deliberate intention to harm, that the trainer directly ordered this, and that the trainer has shown extreme disrespect to his ref and, indirectly, his opponent. As such, Seneca Williams will be rewarded a total of seven penalty kicks."

Princeton's mouth dropped. "What the hell? Is there even precedent for that many?"

"Make that nine penalty kicks for profanity and questioning the ruling of a referee. If there are no–"

"A sham! You're a sham! I'll tell my daddy about this, just watch me!" Princeton stormed off the stage, leaving a stunned referee and Seneca behind.

"Well, in that case, Princeton Perry has forfeited the match. Seneca Williams wins!"

"By The Voice, he's a prick," Andrea spat with disgust.

"Absolutely. Worst player I've seen."

"Is Seneca's Butterfree alright? That was a really powerful direct hit."

"She probably will be. The healers at the Pokémon Center are pretty good."

Andrea nodded. "And they can heal Pokémon like that?"

"The girl who can miraculously heal people bleeding out is surprised that the Center workers can take care of simple hits?"

"Fine, you've got me there. But can _you_ do that?"

John hesitated. "Well, sort of. I'd need some more practice, and I'll need to read up on it a bit more, but I think I could do it."

Leaning back in her seat, Andrea nodded as Seneca moved up the stands to talk. "Then we just might make this insanity work."

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

1984

"Today we're going to talk about a very important topic for you boys and girls to learn about as you mature: love. Love holds a special importance in theology. It is the love of The Voice that began life, continues life, and redeemed life. Testament tells us that we should all hold love for each other mirroring that of The Voice for all of its creation. However, there are certain types of love beyond simple love for fellow man.

"The first is love for family. You should all be familiar with that. Children are to respect and take care of their parents, as well as demonstrate unwavering obedience. Parents, in turn, are supposed to ensure that their children are taken care of whenever possible. When the children error, it is the duty of parents to ensure that they are corrected and continue to develop correctly.

"And then there is romantic love. I see that a few boys find this to be funny in the audience. But I assure you, it is an incredibly serious matter. While The Voice gifted humanity with the desire and capacity for reproduction, the workings of The Enemy quickly corrupted the gift. Romantic attraction is a dangerous power that will corrupt all but the best of people, and sometimes even them. It overwhelms logic and creates a conflict of loyalties. For this reason, it is strongly discouraged in the Community as a dangerous distraction from the will of The Voice.

"When you get old enough, the Community may decide to grant you a marriage license and assign you a partner to live with. At this point, it will be your sacred duty to ensure the survival of that partner and any children you may have, wary of falling astray at all times and keeping your primary loyalties to your Community and The Voice, and not your temporal family."

"To clarify, The Voice has said it is a being of love. This is a type of love we can barely grasp, and all-encompassing love of all people. The thought of any inter-personal relationship between humans ever rivaling that of The Voice to his creation is absurd, but it is the implicit meaning of any attempt to select a romantic partner of your own. It shows that you prioritize your love of another human over the holiness of your creator, and it is a blaspheme above almost all others. Whatever your bodies may lead you to believe in coming years, never fall for another person. The will of the Community has far better judgment than you."

END FILE 1.3: TITANIUM ORANGE

PROCEED TO FILE 1.4: DAFFODIL YELLOW


	5. File 14: Daffodil Yellow

OPEN FILE 1.4: DAFFODIL YELLOW

Everyone who competes in the games goes into strict training. They do it to get a crown that will not last, but we do it to get a crown that will last forever.

1 Corinthians 9:25

An excerpt from REGIONAL HISTORY FOR THE STUDENTS OF UMBER:

Prior to the First Holy Revolution, the region was governed by corrupt and evil dictators. The executive was the best Pokémon trainer, ensuring that the brutal and terrible practice continued, while the legislature and judiciary were selected by the regional elites who sought money and power over the greater good. All of this changed when a heroic captain, Johnathan Lee, appeared. He staged rallies in Lavender Town, Fuchsia City, and Cerulean City to move the remaining religious people in the region to action.

The combined forces of the disciples were enough to push back the armies of the Champion into Saffron, which they eventually captured. The city was the base for the depraved ultra-capitalist economy, and the wealthy sinners who dominated the government were slaughtered for their crimes against the people and The Voice. The just armies inflicted similar punishment upon the fallen nobles of Celadon City. The port city of Vermillion soon joined their cause. The West had fallen.

The Eastern campaign was far more contested. A handful of religious settlements, such as Umber, had long thrived in the forests of the East. The men of these Communities came to Lee's aid. It was hard for him to move armies to support these fighters due to the geography of the region. Long and brutal battles were fought underground between Viridian and Vermillion, in the hills between Pewter and Cerulean, and in the forests between the Eastern and Western parts of the region. Naval forts in Cinnabar and the Seafoam Islands held back Lee's navies. Ultimately, the stalemate was broken. The Seafoam Islands fell, and their entire population was slaughtered for their wickedness against the founders of our good faith. Cinnabar surrendered shortly after, on the condition that they join the just armies. After the southern stalemate broke, Lee's forces landed along the southern coast of the region and quickly marched on Viridian. Cut-off from both sides, the remaining armies of the Champion in the undersea caves were decimated. The sieges of various rural communities were lifted by the liberating armies, and the remaining battles in the region ended.

After this, the armies of Johnathan Lee swept West. The mighty trainers on the Plateau held their ground for a full year before the overwhelming might of The Voice crushed them underfoot. The rest of the continent was quickly conquered, and the Western heathens who worshipped pagan gods of storm and sunlight were quickly subjugated and their cities burned for their sins.

The Holy Regime's power was consolidated upon the same hill that tyrannical trainers had long ruled the continent from. The Regime lasted for twenty years. During this period, revolts in the West and their subsequent failure eventually led to a fledgling independence movement. At the time, the Western pagans were unable to act upon this desire.

During the Regime, Pokémon training was outlawed and the Testament's law was applied. Blasphemes were publicly stoned for rejecting the love of The Voice and misleading the populace. Gambling was banned as a waste of resources. The wealthy were forced to donate all their assets to the Regime and the ministers of The Voice for their greed. The environment flourished as Pokémon populations rebounded and the desecration of The Voice's creation was halted.

While the glorious dominion of our creator reigned in the region, there were elements of The Enemy working to thwart it. These factions organized into criminal syndicates bent on misguiding the public and overthrowing the Regime. They gained power for decades, growing in strength and arrogance until they eventually challenged the Regime itself upon Johnathan Lee's death. A Prophet, Estis, rose to counter their challenge and the Second Holy Revolution began. The armies of Estis clashed with those of the mob for three years before Estis died and the region was overrun by darkness. In the aftermath, disciples were once again persecuted and the Champion restored. The West lobbied for independence. Faced with a possible war, the mob-government ceded the ancient lands of the region to pagans.

The twelve years since this war have seen many changes to the land, few good. Pokémon training has returned and flourished. The mafia state has discriminated against pure disciples and the world outside of the Communities has become increasingly secular. Socialism has grown rampant to fill the void of unhappiness in the lives of the masses and keep them from seeing the truth. In these hard times, freedom fighters have rose to begin a Third Holy Revolution. Their success has thus far been limited, but it is hoped that one day soon the region will rise once more.

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

1989

Elder Plessey's room smelled of the pink medicine and the wilted daffodil yellow flowers that sat on his bedside when John and Andrea stopped by. "Hello, kids. How are things going today?" the aging man croaked out.

"Relatively well, thank you. Elder Thompson's granddaughter is down with a high fever and taking most of our time. Outside of that, it's pretty quiet," Andrea reported.

"Ah, yes. Slow as usual. To think that at one point the rest of the council believed we would be flooded with visiting trainers. We've had, what, three?"

"Four."

"Four trainers in the entire year. Only one meant to be here, too." Plessey let out a long, dry gasping that was intended as a laugh. "I'm really proud of you two. I know I say it a lot, but I mean it."

"Thank you, but it's not like we actually do a whole lot around here," John said.

"Not a whole lot? Only if running the town's medical services doesn't qualify as a whole lot. -"

"You taught us everything and ran the Center for a few months," Andrea interjected.

"But you were willing to learn and ran things after I stepped down. That's a success in my book."

"Maybe so. Here are your meds, Mr. Plessey," John said.

"Down to business, are we? Just going to pump the old man full of his drugs so he goes to sleep and leaves you alone?"

"Not at all sir! Why, we just thought–"

"Just a joke, Andrea. Just a joke."

A few minutes later, though, the old man was indeed asleep and the two teenagers were standing on his doorstep. Andrea scanned her list. Three names remained, enough that they would easily be done in an hour or so. Then she could relax at the Center and enjoy the rest of her day with John. She glanced up at her partner, only to find him staring off to space with a worried expression that she was not at all accustomed to seeing him wear.

"Is something wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just, it's just that I've been gone at camp for basically the last two months, and I get back to find Plessey like that. How bad is it? How long do you think he has?"

"Have some faith! He'll get better, I know he will." _He has to._

"And if he doesn't?

"Ugh. You really need to trust in The Voice more with these things. He'll be fine." _He has to be fine._

John rolled his eyes, irritated at being blown off. "You're right. But he's old! Eighty-something, probably. Old enough he won't give his age. He might survive this month, or this year, or even two years. One day he'll die. What happens then? Who else is going to support the Center? Who's going to help _us_?

"The Voice will. If we act according to its commands, there is no power on Earth that can stop us. I thought you would… Hello! Can we help you with something?"

A young boy was charging towards them. "Hi, you're John Weaver and Andrea Jones, right?"

"Yeah, that's us."

"The headmaster asked that you two come to a school meeting in the Chapel, now."

The two glanced between each other and realized that neither knew what was going on. "Alright, but we don't really go to school any more. We kind of do our own thing," John said.

"That's fine! He just wants all teenage children at the meeting."

"Alrighty then. I guess we're going." Andrea began to briskly walk towards the Chapel, and John and the other boy followed a moment later.

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

"Good afternoon, students. Today I have come to make a very special announcement regarding the results of an inter-Community conference over the Summer. We determined that given the evidence in Testament supporting personal betterment and physical care, the potential for sporting to mislead is tolerable for the benefits derived from it. As such, an inter-Community Soccer league is in development. Any person in good standing with the Community between the ages of fourteen and eighteen inclusive may participate in the senior division, while those between ten and thirteen may play in the junior division. Youth games will be allowed and encouraged for those younger than ten, but there will not be a formal division. The callout for junior division will be tomorrow at this time. Senior division will have its callout a day later. Both meetings will occur inside the Chapel. Thank you, and we hope to see you in five days for the return of the school year."

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

"You going to the callout, Andrea?"

She shook her head. "I never really liked sports in Fuchsia. I'm more of a 'read books' type than a 'kick things' person, really. I take it you're going."

"Yeah, it's the closest thing to Baccer I can legally do, so I'll take it."

"Right. I guess I'll be working the Center while you're away." John nodded and the two continued to walk to their base of operations. "Just like the last two months," Andrea added under her breath.

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

"Looks like we had quite the turnout today, doesn't it? My name is Mr. Letterman, but you can call me Coach. Our team here at Umber Community will have three main objectives, laid out by the Council. The first is to increase reverence to The Voice. As with all things in the Community, this will be at the heart of everything we do. Before, after, and at half-time of every game and practice we will have Testament studies and devotions, as well as prayers led by the players or coaches.

"The second objective is fellowship. All of you on the team should strive to know each other better throughout the season. Many of you will already know each other, but this will still be a fantastic opportunity for you to develop alliances with other people your age. It will also give you a chance to meet youth from other Communities of The Voice around the region. Finally, this program will help you stay in shape physically. Fitness is important, but never forget what the higher goals of the game are.

"I don't expect that any of you here know much about soccer at all. Let's go over the basics. The game is played between two teams of ten players. It is divided into two halves and play is continuous from when the half starts to when the half ends. Can anyone guess how long the game is? Yes, John?"

"Twenty-five minutes," he confidently answered.

"Good guess, but it's actually a bit longer than that. Each half is forty-five minutes, bringing the game to a total of ninety minutes in a game. A team wins by having the most points at the end of the match. Points are earned by kicking a ball like this one," he pulled a soccer ball out of a nearby bag, "into a goal. There will be a handful of other players and a goalie trying to stop the offensive team. You will have a few allies as well to make the last scoring attempt. There are some other important rules to know, but those are the basics.

"Practices will be held after school on weekdays from four to six. I have already approved this with the headmaster, but you should make sure your parents agree as well. Are there any questions?"

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

The Umber Pokémon Center was built in the sole wooden building in Umber, on the very western edge of town. The structure was immensely old, older than the new building codes, so it was allowed to stand as it was. It was two-stories tall, an oddity for Umber, and was previously a school house. It had been painted imperial red to match League regulations, and many glass panels had been added on the bottom walls. The region had paid for it, and Elder Plessey had argued that sunlight was good for the sick and resting so the Council approved.

After walking back from the callout, John opened the door and entered to see Andrea and another girl who looked slightly older than her talking. The new girl was taller than John was, which was admittedly not saying much, and had long chestnut hair. Her eyes were obscured by sunglasses and she wore a brown coat and cowboy boots. If she was trying to look like he'd stepped out of a Western, she was doing a good job.

"Hi, John. This is Reina Verity, a visiting trainer and Camper."

"Howdy, partner. Andrea here tells me you're a Camper as well."

John felt air rise into his mouth, and had to fight hard to keep from laughing. She had to be intentionally similar to a cowgirl. Surely she knew how ridiculous it made her look.

"Yes, sir. I just got back from my second term on Viridian Staff a few days ago."

"Viridian, eh? Believe it or not, I'm gonna be Director up in Cave Camp next season. Sorry to hear you're trapped down hear with the forest folk."

"Well, if you hate Viridian so much why did you come to visit?" John asked, glad that his camp at least wasn't run by a crazy girl born a few centuries too late.

"Just passing through for a few days on my way to the Gym. I'm on a badge quest, now. Figured I might as well get one last hurrah out of life before the real world smothers the fun."

"So you're a battling trainer?" Andrea asked.

"Not sure what other types there are, kiddo."

"Well, there are Baccer players."

"Miss, there are trainers who are battlers at heart and trainers who battle to do what their heart wills. Players are just the second, nothing more. Ain't no trainers who don't battle from time to time. No real ones, anyhow."

Andrea traced something in the air with her finger and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to translate the visitor's word through her drawl. "And you believe that it's justified?"

"Can't see why not. Pokémon are born fighters. They see somethin' to clash their little skulls against and you can't stop 'em. Most you can do is guide 'em in the right path, let 'em fight when they can win, and heal 'em up when they can't. It's been a way of life for centuries 'round these parts. 'Sides, you folk tried to stop it years back. Ya'll couldn't though. The battles go on, whether you like it or not. Thought working as healers woulda taught ya that."

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

John was breathing more heavily than normal as he ran, but it was nothing compared to the gasping of the kids behind him. Hauling participants around the backwoods all Summer had apparently been good for his endurance, and he was thankful for every hike now. Admittedly he knew little about running technique other than what he had heard Cross Country runners talk about on staff, which wasn't a lot. While the run was a far cry from being pleasant, he did appreciate it for giving him time to think.

Reina had been in Umber for two days, and he had been required to stay in the Pokémon Center with Andrea due to League policy. They could not exactly leave their guest alone in the building and they had to have two staff stay if neither had a Pokémon. The League didn't give them a lot of red tape to deal with, but there were still guidelines.

During her stay, John had talked a lot to Reina about Camping and Cave Camp, eventually learning to ignore the girl's exaggerated drawl. He had never left the Viridian area, so he could hardly imagine what living in the mountains would be like. John would excitedly draft notes and drawings as Reina talked about spelunking, and then tell his own stories about the backwoods. Reina could hardly imagine how it would be to get burned or poisoned while on the trail for ten days; John failed to fathom how the Cave Camp staff trekked without light for a week at a time. All the while, John had noticed Andrea talking less and less. He invited her to join the conversation often, but she would often just slink back and continue taking inventory or insist that she had to catch up for Testament study. It made no sense to John. None at all.

Elder Plessey's health had also declined even more rapidly in the previous days. He was hardly eating anything now beyond his medicine and a ghastly pallor had snuck into his cheeks. Andrea still wouldn't be honest about Plessey's condition, but it obviously wasn't great. It worried John both because of the friendship he and Andrea had formed with the Elder in the last few months and because he wasn't sure who was going to guide the Center after he left. Plessey was able to defend the program to the Council when he was present, but whenever he was not John could always here the disgruntled mumblings of the Reverend and the Elders, irritated that they and their idea of holiness could be so easily trampled by a headstrong girl. He also wasn't sure if there were any other skilled medics who were willing to stick their necks out like Elder Plessey had done. Andrea was a great healer and the Pokémon Center's computers allowed the two of them to look up a lot of information and talk to doctors across the region, but they were still kids. They could do a lot, but they were nowhere near qualified to run a small hospital on their own.

All of those problems lie in the future, though. Now he just needed to get through practice and focus on breathing.

... . -. . -.-. .- .- .. .-.. .-.. .. .- - ...

Weaver:

'Sup? It's only been a few days since we last talked, but some major things were announced back in Viridian. Probably the biggest is that I'm Viridian director next year. As part of the job, I can pick my assistant directors. I was hoping you might accept the job of program director for '90. Please write me back as soon as you can.

Sincerely,

Seneca Williams

General Director, Viridian Camp

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

"Program director ain't bad, kid. Just a hop away from bein' head honcho. Congrats."

"Thanks, Reina. What director were you?"

"I was facilities director, myself. I made sure that all the cavin' gear was ready for usage and the trails were safe. Ain't no accidents under my watch, so I reckon I did alright."

"I guess so."

Reina shifted her weight and stood up. Lifting her bag over her shoulder, she took a few steps towards the door before turning around. "Listen, kiddo. I gotta get movin' now. Maybe we'll see each other round the bend sometime. Hope your course goes well."

"Same, Reina."

"Then I'll see ya later."

Shortly after Reina closed the door, Andrea came down from the second floor with a book in her hand. "Is she leaving now?"

"Yes, she needs to get to going to Viridian soon to get her next badge."

"Good, I can finally sleep in my own bed again."

As she headed back upstairs to pack her personal items up, John stared after her, a question burning on his mind.

"Andrea, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, go ahead," Andrea tersely replied.

"I just, well, you've never really hated any guest we've had here before. Why was it different with Reina?"

"I didn't hate her."

"Then why did you never talk to us? Ever? You seemed friendly enough when she first came, but then you started going off on your own whenever you got a chance. It was sort of rude to both of us."

"Well then, John, it could just be that I don't really enjoy spending my Summers running a Pokémon Center alone."

"What does that have to do with anything? Do you not like me going to Camp?"

"I didn't say that."

"But do you?"

"I don't like it when people back out of commitments they made for months at a time and then don't bother to apologize and get caught up in their own life immediately when they get back, not even bothering to talk to me. So, yeah, maybe I don't like it." Andrea threw up her hands. "There, you got a problem with it?"

"You know I have a life outside of here, right? I'm also not the one who stood up in the middle of a council meeting to volunteer to run a Pokémon Center. This project is yours. If you want to criticize my choices, fine. I'm out."

John grabbed his pack from the room he was staying and walked outside, slamming the imperial red door behind him.

"Hmph. Fine. I didn't need you anyway. I ran it for two months, I can keep doing it." Andrea held her confident glare out the door before turning to face the staircase, her sienna eyes quickly losing their hardness as her frown relaxed. "Alone. I can do alone. I have no problem with being alone at all."

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

Rubbing his sore legs, John sat alone on his bed and read a Soccer rulebook. Five brutal days of practice and three of school had passed. He still saw Andrea around the Community, hurriedly rushing medicine to some poor child or elderly man, struggling to carry the weight of the packages he had carried with ease. His spirit pulled him forward to help; his pride said no. His mind wanted a way out.

It would be another two months before he would talk to his former partner.

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

"Hey, you don't have to handle it that roughly!"

Andrea grimaced as she wrapped the bandage even tighter around John's ankle. "Man up, will you? It's probably just a type one sprain. You'll be out for a week and you can get on with your merry little life."

Wincing in pain, John sat up in his cot. "And we both know that you could do this a lot less painfully." John sighed as Andrea finally stopped tugging and stood up to leave the room. "Wait, there's something I need to say before you go. Yeah, I should've asked you if it was okay to go to camp. I also should have probably talked to you more, but walking away after a fight was probably my biggest mistake. What I mean to say is that I'm sorry."

Andrea sighed and sat down next to him on the cot. "No, I was being equally bad. I can't expect you to bend your life and plans around me and I was being really disrespectful for a while. I'll still accept your apology, though."

They sat side by side for a few minutes, looking out the window at the orange and red tones of Autumn in Viridian.

"Well, since I'm out of practice for a few days anyway, could you use a partner again?"

"Sure, at times the job is a bit much for one person to do." A knocking at the door interrupted the conversation. "Come in," Andrea called. "It's not locked."

The same boy who had talked to them months before entered the building, a crestfallen look on his face. "I was asked to bring you another message. Elder Plessey is dead."

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

Excerpt from UMBER NEWS BROADCAST, 15 OCTOBER 1990

Hello, I'm here today on Cinnabar Island, where the revolutionary Titania was reportedly captured in a firefight earlier in the morning. Regional special forces stormed Titania's compound on the island, burning it to the ground in the process. Reports indicate that several special forces were brought down, but unfortunately Titania was ultimately detained and the majority of the revolutionaries with her captured or killed.

Her second-in-command, Reverend Amarillo, has issued a statement insisting that the fight be continued even without Titania and that until she is released the remaining soldiers will inflict unspeakable horrors on the tyrannical government. The Champion has issued a statement on the raid, calling it a "great step forward" for his despicable agenda. It is unclear whether or not Titania will be executed, but most experts agree she will likely be tortured. May the grace of The Voice be upon the region now in this time of darkness.

CLOSE FILE 1.4: DAFFODIL YELLOW

PROCEED TO FILE 1.5: EBONY


	6. File 15: Ebony

OPEN FILE 1.5: EBONY

But on the judgment day, fire will reveal what kind of work each builder has done. The fire will show if a person's work has any value.

1 Corinthians 3:13

1984

"Good evening, candidates. I am Reverend Xavier, chief minister of Umber, and I will be guiding you through your initiation process over the next few months. You likely already know the basics of discipleship, but not the fine details. That is acceptable. Before the end of initiation you will know almost all you need to about our wondrous faith. Let's start with the very fundamentals today.

"Above all other things in the universe, there is The Voice. It created us and the rest of the world as well. The Voice deeply loves humanity, for above all it is a being of love. Humanity was perfect until it was manipulated by The Enemy. We know little about The Enemy except that it is a being of pure hatred and anguish that wishes to bring humanity down to its level. It was persuasive and The Voice allowed it to gain influence among men so that they might be forced to think for themselves and choose to follow The Voice of their own free will. While The Enemy is powerful in the world and has gained many followers, The Voice's influence has never fully died. From time to time it sends mighty prophets to us to show the right path and revive the faith of the disciples.

"The center of discipleship has always been in Communities such as these. We will talk more upon why later, but the primary reason is that it is only here where divine law may be enacted. The Voice has laid down laws that we must follow to truly experience its love. These laws often conflict with those of civil government so in order to most easily live as The Voice intended the most devout disciples live in the Communities.

"The laws laid by The Voice still need interpreted. That is why the town has myself and the Elders, and also why we train the youth. Even The Enemy can twist Testament against us, so there need to be clear people on Earth to look up to when right and wrong are unclear. Testament is the basis of our law, but it is enacted and judged by the leading and most pious men of the most pious place in the land. If this were not so, the faith would collapse here in Umber as it has in the rest of the world."

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

1990

Reverend Xavier raised his hand in the sleeves of his ebony robes to call the crowd to order. "I would like to thank so many of you for coming out for our early Solstice sermon today. As you may know, traditionally we would have invited everyone to come and it would be tomorrow, on the Solstice itself. A most urgent matter prevented either from being possible, so this meeting had to be called as informally and hastily as it was."

"In October, two great blows were dealt to the disciples across the region in a span of three days. The first was the loss of our dear Elder Plessey, a great man of The Voice led astray at the end to support wicked polices against his better judgment. His death did not bring purification, but as the sole man present when he died I can assure you he was repentant.

"Ultimately, no action was taken on his change of heart due to ill-placed respect for the Elder's legacy over the will of The Voice. We paid most dearly two days later when the greatest spiritual warrior of our time, Titania, was captured and tortured in her home base. Once more the message of The Voice was clear, but in our mourning we did not see the signs all around us. Two months have come and gone. Her successors have rallied against the government in vain and our movement seems at its weakest. That is where we stand today. We are weak while our master is strong. We lose when Testament says we cannot. Only one conclusion is possible: we are not truly following the commands of The Voice."

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

"Thank you for visiting, tonight. Your room is down that hallway on the right," Andrea said as she finished adding a note on the register.

"Oh, may The Voice bless you! We wouldn't have come here and kept you away from your families the night before Solstice, but well, Evelyn here is due any day and we didn't want to stay out in the woods longer than we had to."

"No problem at all. Testament says to show hospitality to all who seek it, regardless of the circumstances."

"It's good to see that there are still loving people in the world, after all. Thank you once more." The visiting man took the hand of his girlfriend, who patted her bulging belly as she unsteadily moved down the hall towards their room.

"You know, it's really a shame that they have to be traveling this close to Solstice," Andrea said wistfully. "Especially when she's pregnant. It's just not right."

"Of course it's not right. They should have been married first."

"John, they're on their way to do that now before the baby's born. That's why they're out here in the first place: they value marriage."

"They still should have valued it nine months ago. Maybe this is The Voice's way of–"

"Shut up, John. You're smarter than this. The Voice says not to judge."

John's hardened periwinkle glare instantly subsided into confusion. "Really? Where?"

"Um, Cinta, I think. Yeah, Cinta. Stanza Three? I don't know. Outside of trances, I don't really have an encyclopedic knowledge of Testament so I'd have to look it up."

"No, I'll believe you. I'd just never heard that before," John admitted.

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

Reverend Xavier paused as a hushed silence fell over the crowd that quickly gave way to confused murmuring. Had he really just claimed that the Community wasn't following The Voice? If Umber was lost, who could be found? What was he proposing they do?

"If we wish to return to the good graces of our god, if we wish to once more find power in ourselves and the world, and if we wish to ever take command of this sinful Earth we must find atonement. The Voice and its Prophets have been overwhelmingly clear on how we should do this. Testament is filled with examples where cities, men, or governments defied the law of our god. In every case, the demanded punishment was destruction. Thus whole cities were consumed by fire, men stoned, and leaders exiled for their sins. I do not wish death for Umber. It is truly the most righteous place on Earth. But even we may fall, even we may stumble and sin. Rather than risk the whole city, I say we purge the elements that displease The Voice."

"On the Western edge of the Community, we have allowed an abomination to flourish. Standing in a city of light is a singular institution of darkness. The intentions to create it were noble, but the will to build it came from The Enemy and not our master. It has led us astray. Undesirables have soiled the ground of Umber, sinners have dwelled among us, and our children have lived in a world where evil was tolerated. It is ironic to note that Umber's spiritual plague stemmed from healing, but even cells healing too quickly can cause a deadly cancer."

"Therefore, we must rid this town of our disease. Tonight two trainers who know the will of The Voice but spit upon it reside in our grounds. What's more, they are unwed but with child and dare to set foot in the holiest of cities. This cannot be justified, cannot be condoned at any point in our year. Now, but one day from Solstice, we tolerate it! No! We cannot! We must purge the poison, crush the sinners, ignite the fallen in a blaze of righteousness to make clear to The Voice that our sins have been purged, our structures sacrificed to make atonement. Tonight, we shall reclaim our Community and our connection to the divine!"

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

"John, there's something I've been meaning to ask you for a while." Andrea brushed a strand of auburn from her face and turned to her coworker. John was somewhat confused by her nervous expression.

"Yes?"

"What are you going to do, well, let me back up. Have you ever, even for a moment, thought about leaving Umber?"

Total silence reigned supreme as John struggled to come up with a response. "I, um, no. Not really. Reverend Xavier says it's much easier to join The Voice if you live here. There are some neat things outside, but I wouldn't risk my soul for it. Have you?"

She sighed and sat down behind her computer. "Never? Not for one moment?"

"Okay, I've thought about it occasionally. Why would I want to, though? What's out there that's so much better than what's in here? You've told me you hated the outside, so I don't really see why you want to know this."

"It's just that…"

"Just what?"

"It's nothing. Just a few teachings I don't agree with. A few things that are prohibited that shouldn't be. Nothing you would ever think about, anyway."

John pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. "Like what?"

"Like interpretation for one. I'm a human. I can think. I can read. What's stopping me from reading Testament and figuring out what it means for myself? They do that everywhere I've seen but here. If the Reverend is really right on everything, surely it would do no harm to let people think and agree with him independently. And news. It's biased, yes. But if we're really meant to get the rest of the world on our side, why can't we view the events as they see them and come to our own conclusions with Testament? Why does the Council have to filter what we can know and how we should feel? And then there's– no, I'll stop there." Andrea's rant ended and she crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair with a huff. "Why? Why is all that forbidden?"

John was taken completely aback. "Well, if the Reverend's right and the Council has the right way of viewing things, letting uninformed people think their ideas are true would just create confusion. It's best to–"

"Why do you always take their side?" Andrea muttered. "You obviously don't agree with them about Baccer and Pokémon trainers. You defied the Reverend twice to help me with this. Why do you keep pretending you think he's infallible?"

"Because," John paused, raising his finger into the air only to slowly lower it. "Because I don't know. It's what I'm supposed to do. What was your third complaint, anyway?"

Andrea's cheeks flashed with a shade of rose and she brushed the side of her hair, drawing her hands over her face for a moment to hide it. "Nothing, forget I said anything."

"Tell me. If I'm going to think you're crazy, I already would."

"It's not like that. It's, actually, fine. I'll tell you. Carpe diem and all that." She laughed a little, obviously drained from her earlier speech. "Love. Half the Prophets had kids, all of the Founders did, and you never read about The Voice telling them who they could hook up with. It just seems dumb that when your heart and mind tell you to do something, the Council can say they know you better."

John didn't reply to that. He had never been in love, nor really understood the Council's regulations on the matter or why they were important. Sure, it was more or less the only thing he had ever heard his peers complain about, but public complaints of any type were seldom made seriously in Umber.

"You probably don't care, though. This is all you've ever known. All you might ever know. I can't expect you to think like an outsider, but it's just– never mind. I'll stop here while I'm ahead. Or not horribly behind. Or whatever the case may be."

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

In the snow covered streets of Umber, a mighty war cry rose as the Reverend shouted. "This is the day we fight for The Voice! This is the day we're forgiven! This is the day we fight for The Voice! This is the day we're forgiven!" The same two sentences, a famous quote from the holy warrior Jonathan Lee, resonated continuously throughout the otherwise calm Community, with the assembled masses roaring their assent.

"This is the day we fight for The Voice!"

"YEA!"

"This is the day we're forgiven!"

"AMEN!"

The mass was quickly moving through the wintery town. The season had been harsh and morale had plummeted as sermons increasingly turned to judgment and tribulation after Titania's fall. Finally a way out had appeared, a way to restore the peace and complacency that reigned before the doors of Umber had been cast open to sinners, before KR-1028, before mere girls could interrupt elders. Normalcy was coming and by the start of the Solstice the world would be as pure as the snow they trampled underfoot.

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

Yea… amen… yea… amen… yea…

"John, do you hear something?"

Yea… amen… yea…

John furrowed his brow and listened. "I think people are yelling out there." He opened the door and shivered as a rush of cold air swept into the building.

Yea! Amen! Yea! Amen!

In the distance a line of flickering lights cut through the early darkness, advancing in a massive row towards their present locations. Andrea pulled a jacket on and came out beside him. "It looks like fire. Candles?"

"Maybe, but that would be a lot of candles. Torches, maybe?" The two stood in confused silence as the lights came closer.

…fight… Yea! …forgiven… Amen!

Andrea's jaw dropped. "John, go inside. Get your coat and get the visitors out, now. I, I'll be out here."

"You sure?"

She swallowed and nodded. "Yes, I'll be, I'll be fine. Just go. Now. I think I need to get a trance going."

…fight… YEA! …forgiven… AMEN!"

John moved back into the war air of the Pokémon Center and knocked on the door down the hall to the right. "Hey, sorry to bother you now, but, uh, you might want to get ready to leave. Something's come up!"

"What?"

"Just trust me. I'm really, really sorry about this, but you probably can't stay much longer."

"Al-alright then. Hear that, honey?"

Yea! Amen!

John immediately ran upstairs to his own room and grabbed his coat and sketchbook. He rushed back downstairs and grabbed the guest's red and white Pokéballs from the storage area in the back. He checked the labels. Vulpix and Growlithe. At least they probably wouldn't freeze to death. If the worst happened, that was. He hoped it wouldn't.

"ENOUGH!"

John shuddered. Outside, the chanting had stopped.

.- -. -.. .-. . .- .- - -. . ... "ENOUGH!"

The first faces of the crowd were visible to Andrea, now. Reverend Xavier stood in front with a handful of Elders standing by his side. She recognized a handful of the people in the mob behind him, but she knew none very well.

"Enough! There's a pregnant woman staying in there and you've probably scared her half to death! This isn't the kind of hospitality disciples should show, especially this close to Solstice!" Good. Anger was good. Trances often came with anger.

"Ma'am, that woman should not be there at all!" Reverend Xavier shouted, and the crowd roared behind him a moment later. "We have tolerated the abominations you have sheltered, tolerated the wicked thoughts you have so deliberately implanted in the minds of our children, tolerated your corruption of even the most respected elders, but we shall no more! You stand before a shelter of time that one day shall rot, while we bear the fire of The Voice! There is nothing you can do to stop the wrath of a deity; stand aside."

At last her vision nearly blacked out, replaced by a thin haze. Excellent. But why was it just a haze? Normally she couldn't see anything. No. It would work. It was enough. It had to be.

"I thought better of you, Reverend. I really did. Misguiding followers with twisted Testament to lead them astray and attacking the weakest on days of peace and joy? Pathetic. Kuracanto cured murderers of blindness and insanity, Penebusan-6. The city of Cahaya at its most pious allowed foreign refugees of a pagan religion, Penebusan-15. In both cases, many were brought to faith in The Voice. How can we stand here and defy a clear precedent in Testament, if we heal and if we comfort, we shall prosper. If we shut ourselves off and care only for us, then we violate the very essence of the Prophets' deeds."

The crowd was confused and the sea of torches sagged a few inches. Reverend Xavier raised his hands and they rose once more. "You speak well, but you claim to know far more than you possibly could. Testament says to respect your elders in both life and faith. While others may have been willing to condone your youthful arrogance in the past, it will not be condoned here and now. Stand aside. We have no desire to harm you."

"Testament also says to stand up for truth, Cinta-27."

"And how, precisely, do you claim to know the truth better than those who have given their lives to serve The Voice?

Andrea raised her right hand into the air. "This hand, through The Voice's grace, has done far more service than your whole body has ever done. I can heal mortal wounds through just as… Kuracanto… could." The haze was fading. _No. Bad._ Thinking quickly, Andrea finished her own mouth's lecture as best as she could. "If you are truly blessed, why can you not do such things?"

All assembled, even Reverend Xavier and the elders, were stunned. Could this girl really be a miracle-worker? If so, why had she kept it a secret? And if she was a miracle-worker, would that make her stances more correct than Reverend Xavier? Andrea herself was also in a full panic, desperately meditating and praying with her eyes open, her knees vibrating beneath her jeans. _No. No. Why did the trance leave?_ She stared into the crowd and gulped. She knew some Testament, but not a whole lot, and had never stood before a crowd in control of her own body and spoke to this many people. And she had certainly never spoken to a torch-wielding mob.

"Bah. I do not doubt that this impetuous girl can heal. But think over the facts, my friends. She has stood up to the appointed Elders of The Voice and tried to corrupt its Community. Even now she fails to find the divine power to turn us back. Go ahead, girl. Show us your identification with The Voice. If it is really with you, blow out these torches."

"It-it doesn't work like that." _No. No. Please. Please. Come on._

"See? When faced with the real will of the divine, her magic fails her. This girl is not a Prophetess, but a witch who uses their arcane gifts for The Enemy! There is no other explanation. Now, the good people of Umber–"

"No," the redheaded girl before him whispered. "Please, no."

"–What do we do with witches?"

A moment of stunned silence followed as the Community members looked between one another and tried to remember a sermon. "Burn them?"

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

As John finished escorting the guests out the back door of the Center, the front window panes shattered as a human body flew through them, auburn hair whipping in the cold air before Andrea landed inside the building in a shower of blood red fluid and translucent shards. John's eyes widened as he saw the crowd rush forward outside, torches raised as they reached the wooden structure.

"BURN THE WITCH! BURN THE WITCH!"

_Shit._ John lifted his barely-conscious coworker onto his shoulders and stumbled for the medicine room as the first flames touched the outside walls and smoke began to trail around the building. He scooped up bandages and a medical kit in his free hand before groping out in the increasingly ebony air. The front wall was crackling as cadmium red flames crawled away from their origin spaces, replacing soft brown with black and red and orange. More torches, flying inside the building now. Red and orange and ebony. Some sputtered out on the floor, but others caught inside walls and began to ignite them as well. It was a dream world. Ebony air and orange floors. He choked down the graying air, breathed in the toxic fumes and felt his body line with sweat from the incinerating red. Cadmium red? No the shade wasn't quite right. He could never draw fire quite right. Or was it the smoke? He couldn't tell. Time was slowed, Panic and poison gripped his mind. The color of the fire wasn't right. There was a girl on his shoulder, a surprisingly heavy girl, and the air was warm and he was going to die.

What shade of black would death be?

Was he already dead? There was fire and pain and he had been sinning.

…Voice…Yea…we…for…give…en…am…en…today…we…for…gi…en…

No. The voices were still there, drowned out by the roar of red and the smothering of ebony as John's pale hand groped ahead, trying to find its way down an impossibly long hall in an impossibly hot room of impossible colors. Were his parents outside? Andrea's? Why did the smoke have to be so thick. Why did the flames, crimson?, have to be so hot? He remembered the story of a girl in Cinnabar who burned to death long ago. She was good, but corrupted, so she had to die or something like that. Maybe he should have paid more attention.

At long last, John's body slammed into metal, rapidly warming against his back, and he saw light. White light. Just open the door. White. Light. Outside. There was white light outside.

Maybe that was the color of death?

Air, cold but pure, seeped into his lungs as he barreled his way out, his hand tightly gripping his medical supplies like they were life itself and the girl on his shoulders heavier than ever. He coughed. It was heavy coughing. Air was coming in. Poison out. Pure air in. Bad air out. Just. Keep. Breathing. He slid Andrea off of his shoulder into a wheelbarrow kept out back and began to walk, slowly but purposefully, away from the searing heat and into the white and the cold. Every breath of cold, pure air and ever expulsion of toxic fumes brought him one step, one turn of the cart's wheels, away from Umber and into the forest.

The chanting and heat slowly faded until only the dry air around him and the cold, rocky ground below remained. He dropped the cart, his muscles collapsing and sending him hurling to the ground. He lay there for an eternity. Air in. Poison out. Air in. Poison out. He was safe now. Safe and free and damned.

John did the most he safely could for Andrea there, wiping off rust red blood with a cloth in the kit and bandaging the salmon scars that wrapped around her arms and legs, but ultimately had to keep moving when chanting resumed near the forest edge. On and on he marched through the midnight below, walking until midnight had long past and the Solstice had begun. Even then he continued, the buzz of fear at the back of his mind making sleep undesirable and impossible. He had sinned in his heart and deeds. He should have turned around and faced the Reverend, but every glance in the wheelbarrow would make him shudder and walk on. The Reverend would not recant. A ghostly imaged lingered with John that night, a phantom stake, burning with cadmium red fire just a shade off from the real blaze. When he paused and moved ahead of the cart to turn it around, a girl began to materialize in the illusion, chained and burning. He kept going forward.

Hours more passed as John alternated between pulling and pushing the wheelbarrow, checking on Andrea, and resting. Deep in the forest there was a place where they could be safe. It would be a long time, maybe even days, until they reached it but every step into the night brought more familiar trees and trails. They had crossed the Camp border some time ago. He saw a pale ash tree with a charcoal ring etched around a knob in the bark. Stopping, John listened to the near silence of the forest, interrupted only by the hooting of the owls and the occasional gusts of the wind rustling the tree leaves. Focusing more, another sound came into focus. The running of water. A stream. He could get there. Maybe. In truth, he had been hiking for a very long time while pushing another human's weight. Surely it could wait until morning. There was no chanting. Umber was behind him. The buzz of fear had subsided. Midnight blue faded to black

John collapsed in a surprisingly open clearing in the woods beneath a surprisingly large tree standing in the center. Three meters up, a Rattata poked his head out to see what was going on below him. He was quite young, and her mother looked out shortly afterwards to see what his son had found, followed by a whole swarm of his other daughters and sons rushing to see the strange new creature. There was a human below. The mother growled and her children stayed in the tree. Humans were powerful and dangerous. One of her children could get captured if they weren't careful.

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

1979

"Mommy! Daddy! Wake up, it's morning now!"

"Ugh, just give mommy and daddy some more time, okay!"

"Fine, if you say so." John Weaver huffed as he walked away from his parents. It was Solstice morning. They were supposed to be up and excited and eating before going to Chapel. And then they would have presents and there would be stories and the kids would get together to play and it would be fun. But first his parents had to get up. They had all night to sleep. Why weren't they up yet? The sun was already out.

It was supposed to be a magical day of fun and love. At least, he had been told that. Truth be told he had no idea why it was supposed to be that way but it was and that was all that mattered. But he wasn't having fun now. Not one bit. It was really sad when he couldn't have fun on good days like Solstice. Bad things happened on normal days, but he could get through them because that was expected. Holidays were supposed to be good. Why weren't they?

CLOSE FILE 1.5: EBONY

PROCEED TO FILE 1.6: RUST RED


	7. File 16: Rust Red

OPEN FILE 1.6: RUST RED

As long as they have the disease they remain unclean. They must live alone; they must live outside the camp.

Leviticus 13:46

1984

"Today we shall be speaking on the Community and why it is of such importance to those of us who live here. The earliest followers of The Voice lived in Communities of only disciples, worshipping as they pleased. Outside the world of these believers, wickedness and vice flourished to sickening degrees. It was in this time that it became clear that isolation might be the only way to successfully live in such a way that pleases The Voice.

"Many noble souls have tried to persist in faith outside of protected Communities. Some have succeeded, but the vast majority have failed. The primary reason is that corruption is rampant outside, tearing away at what Testament tells us is true, and that ultimate spiritual knowledge only resides in a few people: those who head The Voice's Communities. These enlightened individuals, myself among them, hold sole knowledge of what Testament truly means in the modern era. It is our duty to shepherd in those who are right and recognize those who are possessed, those who are so singularly wicked that there is no hope for redemption in them and cast them out. Better that one worshipper of The Enemy be cut off than a whole flock fall."

"That is why your parents have made the choice to live in this Community. Here there is certainty in law. Follow it, follow me, and you will be saved. Choose to live in darkness and defy it, and you are wrong and shall be banished and damned. Right and wrong are clear and temptation is easy to avoid and punished, making it the hardest path. It is here, and almost exclusively here, that you may be saved."

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

1990

The April air was pristine and clear. Flowers of all colors bloomed. John reached behind him to the backpack the Viridian ranger had given him, but stopped. It would take too much time to get it out. He had enough memories to sift through to last until the hike was done.

Not many people lived at Viridian Camp in the off-season. The ranger and a few retired staff members stayed around to make sure that the trails stayed clear and the facilities were usable. They certainly were not expecting to find two half-dead teenagers in the backwoods shortly after Solstice. A medic was rushed out to the clearing they were found in and he arrived late the next day on an ATV. The boy was conscious when they met; he would be fine after receiving food and rest. The girl was a different story. The cuts had mostly dried but she was almost painted rust red and her limbs were covered in scars. He strapped her onto the ATV to be taken back to camp. The boy asked if she would live. He had to pause, however many times he had to do it he always had to beat back tears, and said that it would take a miracle. He never said death until hearts had stopped beating. To his surprise, the boy smiled. He told him with the utmost confidence that if only a miracle was needed, his friend would be absolutely fine.

For the first month Andrea practically lived in Viridian hospital. The questions the doctor asked John were sensitive and he didn't answer them clearly whenever possible. She had fallen through a pane of glass. There had been some smoke they had inhaled. No, they could not return to Umber. Who cares about the law? It would not happen because it could not happen. In the end, Seneca's uncle and a gun-toting intruder who claimed to speak for "the most Holy followers of The Voice" persuaded the hospital staff that guardianship laws weren't very clear about what to do when the child technically belonged to a hostile religious commune. After Andrea's release, Seneca showed up in his beat-up pickup truck to take them to his house.

At first John quietly tolerated exile for his fellow refugee. She had been burned, literally and figuratively. From time to time Andrea wrote letters to her father who was still in Umber. No response ever came. John could hardly leave her alone with no friends, completely cut-off from everything and everyone she had known.

But what if Umber let him back? They were more angry with Andrea, and he could claim to have never agreed with the Pokémon Center anyway. A tiny lie was better than losing his path to salvation entirely. He stayed up at night and memories came back: his first Solstice, a childhood hike, an old television broadcast. Most importantly, he remembered the sermons of his initiation. One about Community was particularly striking. He stood up staring at the ceiling for nights on end. Umber was good, he had never doubted that, but could it really be that he was entirely lost to The Voice unless he made up with it? Existential terror permeated his existence for months until he finally had to quell it for the good of his mind and soul. He stole away with Seneca's backpacking gear alone in the night, a handwritten note scrawled on a sketchbook page left on his dressed. All he could do was hope his friends would understand.

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

Thankfully, the entire Community was in Chapel when he arrived. Unnoticed by anyone, John trekked from the edges of the forest to his home. The doors were never locked in Umber– that would signify mistrust– so he let himself in and rested in a chair, alone with his thoughts for another hour.

At last he heard voices approaching. "I still think that he's got a point on works. Sure, The Voice is loving, but we have to do something–"

"…by The Voice…"

Mr. Weaver broke the silence first, rushing to his son and knocking over his chair as he lifted him up. "I'm so glad you're here! Where were you for the last four months? I trust you got by well enough. You look fine. We've been so worried, scared that you'd never come back."

"And you shouldn't have." Mrs. Weaver was struggling to stay composed. "You were chased out. If the Reverend says that you're gone, you should be…" it came out as a whisper and she broke at the end, unable to face the rage in her husband's eyes and the shame in her son's.

"Martha, the boy's been through far more than he should have. I don't give a damn what you say, that man is not infallible and he has no justification for picking on kids to get an ego boost. I put up with you to come here. I will not allow you to tear our boy away because of some religious nutcase's opinions."

"Dear, the Reverend- you shouldn't speak of him that way."

"If you like him so much, let's give him the final word. At least give John a chance to stick up for himself."

"And if he says no?"

"He won't," John said quietly. "I didn't want to hurt anyone."

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

Trials always drew crowds in Umber, and John's was no exception. The Elders sat in their customary seats on stage while John and the Reverend sat facing each other on opposite ends. All others sat in the pews and were forbidden to speak. John glanced over the faces on stage. Most were sympathetic or neutral. It did not seem as if their wrath was focused upon him. That was good. He would get out. He would be saved by the grace of The Voice.

Reverend Xavier slammed a gavel down upon his desk. "Good afternoon, residents of Umber Community. Today we are assembled here to hear the case for the formal banishment of John Weaver, son of Martha and Alexander Weaver, both children of outsiders. I will now present my current interpretation of the matter. He may then defend himself and the Elders may question either party. After the conclusion of questioning, The Voice will guide me to the final and true decision."

He cleared his throat to signal a change in topic. "John Weaver was a good and loyal Community resident for the majority of his life. In his early days he was fondly engaged in the Community's Camping unit and easily passed his initiation trials. At about this point he was allowed to venture to Camping's Viridian Camp, which he successfully attended without succumbing to the rampant temptations of the outside. Ironically, he was to be brought down from inside the Community even as he became more and more active with service outside of it.

"In the August of 1988, Casey Jones and his daughter, Andrea, moved into the Community. Casey has been a proper resident and disciple, always assisting those around him when requested and needed. However, he was ultimately unable to control his own daughter to the detriment of himself and those around him. Andrea Jones was mostly harmless at first. She expressed an interest in Camping, contributed positively at Testament studies, and generally caused no problems. Then KR-1028 came.

"The law mandated that Umber and other Communities build Pokémon Centers. It was originally the near-unanimous conclusion of the Elders, as well as my view, that no Center should be built. She had the nerve to interrupt an Elder in council while KR-1208 was discussed and single-handedly tainted the views of Umber into allowing a corruption into our midst. I spoke with John after that meeting and urged him to convince Andrea to come back to reason. Even then he acknowledged that he was already converted away from our side, into darkness and sin.

"For a while it seemed as if John might recover unscathed from even the influence of Andrea, later confirmed to be an unrepentant witch. He became a key figure on Umber's first youth soccer team and continued to serve actively in Umber and Viridian as a Camper. However, he still spent the majority of his time servicing an unholy blemish upon our beloved and holy Community.

"A few months later the Community was finally free of sin once more. John was present when the Pokémon Center was burned and did not oppose it. However, he did prevent the Community from enacting its death sentence upon Andrea Jones and fled from The Voice for months before finally returning.

"Here lies the heart of the matter: is John Weaver's involvement with the creation and operation of the Pokémon Center a sign of character defect or the temporary control of The Enemy's agent? If it is due to a moral flaw he has no place in this Community. If it was due to the influence of an agent, he may flourish if he is removed from the corrupting influence of his former friend.

"If his story shows nothing else, it is that John Weaver is an exceptional Community member and was held in the highest of graces before Andrea Jones arrived. I view it as unlikely that anything more than severe temptation motivated his decisions. Removed from this corruption, as we all should be in a place such as this, he will be fine. Now it is time for he himself to speak."

John shivered as all eyes shifted to him. "Thanks, I'm not entirely sure what I'm supposed to say after that."

"Do you blame your actions upon yourself or your companions?" Reverend Xavier clarified.

"Well, I guess Andrea led me to do the things you talked about. I probably wouldn't have done them without her."

"Is that all you have to say?"

John was surprised that he was getting off so easily and nodded to signify his assent. "Yes, that's it."

The Reverend began the obligatory parliamentary explanation as to how the questioning phase would work. John didn't listen though. He knew he was free. All he had needed to do was pin it on Andrea and he was free John's eyes wandered over the crowd and scanned the crowd's attitude. Most of them were happy. His family was well-liked and they always knew John as a nice-enough boy. One was different. It was… shocked? Betrayed? Anguished? John cringed as he looked into the man's sienna eyes for another moment. They were the same color as another set, a pair that had admonished and comforted him at points. The eyes that he was betraying for his own sake. Eyes that were probably closed in Viridian, anguished and alone. Mr. Jones was unhappy.

"Do you agree, John?"

"Huh, sorry. Wasn't really paying attention," John sheepishly admitted as he turned towards the elders, away from Mr. Jones, and scratched his head. "Could you repeat the question?"

"I asked whether or not you believed Andrea Jones to be guilty of witchcraft, as she admitted to."

"I, well, if she admitted…" John found himself staring back into the audience, gazing into the now anguished eyes of Mr. Jones. They looked too much like Andrea's when she was angry. No, not angry. Disappointed. Betrayed. It was the way they looked whenever she would look at John and ask him why he believed so much in a human minister. Why he believed that a man could claim to understand Testament and then forbid any questioning of his knowledge. He had never understood what she was talking about. He still didn't. He never did. But for one moment, he came a small step closer to knowing.

"No." A wave of tense silence fell over the assembled disciples.

The questioning Elder leaned forward in his chair. "And what do you mean by 'no'?"

"I mean, well, I mean that she isn't a witch and never was. She never admitted to be; not to my knowledge. From time to time she would have things she called 'trances,' where she would forget everything and do crazy things like stand up to the Council, but she said they were from The Voice, not witchcraft. Andrea's flawed. She has her problems. But everything she does, everything she did, she never meant any harm. Maybe she questioned too much. I think she did. I even think she was wrong on a lot of things. But at the end of the day, she was a girl who believed in The Voice and tried to follow Testament. If that's a crime, if we burn people for that…"

"Then what, John?" the Reverend coaxed.

"I-I don't know. It just feels wrong."

"But do you believe that she was a witch: that she used dark magic to perform supernatural acts?"

"No. I saw her heal a dying man once, but her actions– they weren't malicious. She didn't want any recognition and she did it out of guilt and a desire to make things better."

"You affirm that she perform supernatural deeds?"

"Yes."

"And that she claimed to come under the influence of a power hostile to the council from time to time?"

"Not hostile! Just committed to doing what was right?"

"But in this state did she challenge the authority of myself or the Council?"

"Y-yes."

The Reverend cleared his throat. "Has it occurred to you that she may have done and said these things to increase your faith in her, allowing her to manipulate you more later on? Or even that she may have been entirely possessed by demons and her whole life was designed to lure you away from The Voice?"

"It wasn't."

"But it could have–"

"It wasn't. She wouldn't have done that," John said, his voice rising.

"So you deny that Andrea Jones was a witch?"

"I stand by what I said."

The Reverend shook his head. "I honestly thought you were redeemable John. Unfortunately, your corruption is so far ingrained that you can no longer recognize the difference between good and evil. While I recognize your devotion to The Voice, I cannot risk you accidentally tainting those around you. It pains me to do so, but The Voice has revealed but one option to me. As of 3:00 PM tomorrow afternoon, you will be formally banished from Umber Community. Do not return in the future."

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

For all of his life, John Weaver had considered whether his actions were right or wrong before doing anything. Now he wondered if he even knew the difference as he packed in silence. Andrea was nice and he had viewed her as his most valuable ally– no, his most valuable friend– in the Community. He didn't think she was evil. But could he tell? If she was actually a witch, was it possible that he had merely been ensnared by her influence and was now unable to see the truth?

His parents were arguing outside of his room, but he tried not to listen. It was hard enough dealing with his own thoughts. For a time he tried to distract himself with packing. He now had both Seneca's pack and his own to put his gear into. Unfortunately, he would still have to hike with the weight and he wasn't sure how he would carry the second backpack. He liked focusing on that problem more. However he solved it, his worldview would not be threatened and none of his friends were in moral peril. Why couldn't all of his problems be like that? Why couldn't they be more like the ones he had before KR-1028, before he met Andrea, before he went to Viridian Camp?

At long last he finished compiling what he would bring. He left a lot behind due to a lack of space, but he had all he wanted and needed. His clothes and essential items were in his backpack. It fit the best, even if it was the smaller of the two. Seneca's pack only held his art supplies so John could just latch the light pack onto the other one. However unready he was to leave, his time in Umber would run out in three hours if he wanted it to or not. His exile was inevitable.

He hugged his father on the way out. "I know you'll do well, John. Stay with the people you know if possible, but don't be afraid to take risks. Everything that The Voice does to good people is for the fulfillment of its plans. Whatever happens, try and find what you're supposed to be doing. In the end, you might do more out there than you ever could in Umber."

Mrs. Weaver watched her son tearfully, but said nothing and did not return his hug. She was a believer in the Reverend's judgments until the day she died. If Xavier said someone was unholy, they were best banished from the mind and heart.

.- - ... -. .- . .- ...- . .-.

"You need a ride?"

John turned as one of the few cars in Umber pulled up beside him. Mr. Jones leaned out the window.

"I'm on my way out as well. There's room in back for your stuff."

For a moment John considered whether or not the offer was just a chance for Mr. Jones to drag him into the woods and kill him. During the trial he had certainly seemed willing to. Then again, one day he would die and burn for eternity because he had become hopelessly lost. What difference did it make in the grand scheme of things when that day came?

"Sure." John loaded his two packs in the car's backseat and got in the passenger door. "You didn't need to help, though."

"Yes, I did." The car accelerated forward and began to move down the long and rugged road to Viridian. "It was the right thing to do. Even if you had ripped Andrea apart in public it would have been the right thing. Testament tells us to care for the weakest even when we don't want to. I preached for fifteen years before coming to Umber and I never saw someone quite as low as you are right now."

"Um, thanks?"

Mr. Jones chuckled. "I didn't mean it like that. Most people go through either worldly or spiritual trouble, but only one of the two. Those with worldly troubles usually end up relying more on The Voice and hit a spiritual peak. Those with existential problems are usually working so hard that they have everything they could ever want. Everything but love and contentment. You got hit with both. Just as you were cast out of everything you knew, Xavier went two steps farther to shatter your worldview. In time it would have crumbled anyway if you wanted true spiritual health, but it might have come at a better point for you.

"Besides all of that, you did help Andrea in the end and in the last few years you did more for her than me. I wasn't off in Viridian caring for her. I supported her politically and personally, but at almost every step you were there helping her directly. I hoped against hope you wouldn't renounce her on stage. If you had, I might have hated you, but I also would have hated myself for doing less for my daughter than someone who accused her of witchcraft."

Another hour lapsed in silence as Andrea's father watched the road and John stared out the window, lost in emotional chaos and the minister's words. "So what should I do?"

"About what?"

"About the spiritual and worldly hurt. What should I do about it?"

"Even if I knew, it wouldn't be right for me to tell you. Any anguish you feel now is the dying influence of someone you trusted with your soul. If I pretended to know the answer and you took my advice you would just be passing responsibility to someone else who could fail you. It's about time you figured out for yourself what's right and what isn't. That's something no teacher can ever tell you with perfect accuracy. Find your own place in the world; don't let your existence hinge on anyone but yourself and The Voice."

- ... . -. .- .-. .-. .- - - .-.

There's an old legend in the region John grew up in. Like most legends, no one is quite sure what is and is not true. Almost all of the details vary depending upon the bard. But whoever tells it, the story begins several (but not too many) decades ago in a home on Cinnabar Island.

Bards can never agree on who owned the home, except that they were certainly a rich man. Some say he was a scientist who tried to push the limits of his discipline into the realm of The Voice and was plunged into madness as a punishment. Another variant is that a wealthy noble or capitalist lived a life of luxury until his daughter died of a disease not even his money could treat. The gentleman slipped into seclusion and went insane with grief. I have even heard one or two tales where a mafia lord owned the home. Something terrible happened in there: a man close to him was killed before his eyes by another don, his wife committed suicide, or a monster was sent by The Voice to torture him. Seeking redemption, the man turned to religion. In time he abandoned his criminal ties, but he always lived with a feeling of harrowing guilt for all he had done. Over the years it messed with his mind.

An insane and powerful man lived in a nice house. A bad thing happened in the house partially caused by this man. That's all you really need to know. The rest is just fluff and creative license.

As the years passed, the man's insanity grew even deeper. He lived mostly alone, but a single female servant remained on his staff to care for him. The town's residents often spoke of the mansion's occupant in hushed voices. Every passing year increased the mysterious allure of the spectacular home and its enigmatic owner. One day, the ringleader of the town's gossips decided to get the answers she so desperately craved. The housekeeper accepted her offer to get some drinks. The gossip asked the barkeeper to make them a little stronger than usual that night in hopes of cracking the girl. It took hours, but in time she did tell all.

It was the housekeeper's custom to bring the mansion's owner a newspaper every day. For a week she did not, always lying about the reason. It was closing circulation on Sundays. The editor was sick. The assistant editor was dealing with a death in the family. There was an ink shortage in the region. Eventually the old man grew suspicious and wondered what events in the paper she would so desperately hide from him. He left his home for the first time in years one night and went to a local grocery store. Leafing through the newspapers, he discovered a gossip column where his servant had revealed everything about his habits and backstory. He paid for the paper and slunk back to his mansion without raising suspicion, seething inside.

The servant came the next day. Her boss was waiting there, praying on his knees in a large pool of strange liquid that covered the floor. As she approached with his meal, the man opened his eyes and slipped a steel rectangle from his pocket. The girl stopped, unsure of what to do, and kneeled down in the liquid to give him the tray. The fluid stuck to her legs, skirt, and shoes. When the lighter ignited she stood no chance.

The man, girl, and house were torched. The mansion was never demolished– that much can be proven. The story once more differs on what happened after the deaths. The most common account is that the girl was inherently good, but the home was evil. Heaven would not touch the house as long as her ashes were mingled with the sin that permeated the place. She was doomed to wander the scorched halls and stare at her charred body. As decades passed, her shock turned to grief, her grief turned to hatred, and her hatred turned to malice. If heaven could have reached her it would no longer have extended an invitation. Darkness seeped through her entire being. The Enemy would not take her into Hell because she was more useful to it on Earth as a being of terror and evil. The Elders of Umber called her a demon when they taught the story to the Community's young.

For the second time, and in an entirely different way, John identified with the girl.

END FILE 1.6: RUST RED

PROCEED TO FILE 1.7: VIOLET


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